The Farthest Ones From Home
by robertp6165
Summary: What if New Caprica had never been discovered, creating a chain of events which lead the survivors of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol to encounter the 58th Squadron, USMC Space Aviator Cavalry, in the Procyon System in 2064?
1. Chapter 1

THE FARTHEST ONES FROM HOME  
>A Battlestar GalacticaSpace Above and Beyond Crossover Story  
>By Robert Perkins <p>

PROLOGUE

Long ago, many hundreds of millennia in the past, the race of humans evolved on the planet known as Kobol. Over time, they developed a great civilization on that planet, organizing themselves into thirteen nation-states which became known as the Tribes of Kobol. But a great disaster befell them, and humanity was forced to leave its ancestral home on Kobol and seek other homes among the stars.

Twelve of the tribes of humans traveled together, and discovered the Cyrannus Star System, located about 2,000 light years from Kobol, where a group of twelve habitable planets orbited the stars Helios Alpha, Helios Beta, Helios Gamma, and Helios Delta. There they settled, and gradually rebuilt their civilization. Eventually, they organized themselves into a common government, the Twelve Colonies of Kobol.

The Thirteenth Tribe, however, went its separate way, traveling in a different direction, and settled in a sector of the galaxy which was very far distant from that settled by its twelve sister tribes. Thus it was that they lost contact with the Twelve Colonies, and over time, were nearly forgotten by the people of the Colonies.

The civilization of the Twelve Colonies grew ever more advanced technologically, and eventually, their scientists developed artificial life-forms, robotic servants to perform the labors which men found dangerous or otherwise found distasteful. But these artificial servants, called Cylons, gained sentience, and rebelled against their masters. A great war, filled with many atrocities on both sides, broke out which lasted for many years. Finally, a treaty of peace, the Cimtar Accords, was agreed upon. The Cylons left the Twelve Colonies and withdrew into deep space, where, for many years, they were seldom heard from. The people of the Twelve Colonies breathed a collective sigh of relief, and considered the danger to be at an end. Peace returned, and their civilization gradually repaired the damage done by the war.

But unknown to the humans of the Twelve Colonies, the Cylons considered this peace to be a mere armistice, and used the time thus gained to rebuild their strength even greater than before. Led by a new breed of biological Cylon, who resembled humans so closely that they could successfully infiltrate human society, the former slaves plotted the ultimate downfall and extermination of their former masters.

The Cylons secured, through the efforts of one of their infiltrators, the assistance of an unwitting human traitor named Gaius Baltar, who gave this infiltrator full access to the defense computer systems of the Colonial armed forces. The infiltrator inserted a virus into those computers, which rendered the Battlestars and Vipers of the Colonial defense fleet useless, allowing them to be easily destroyed. And then, when the Colonies were completely defenseless, the Cylons brought forth their Base Stars, huge battleships which bombarded the Colonies with nuclear weapons from orbit. Billions of humans died in nuclear fire on the first day, and most of those who survived would die of radiation poisoning in the next few weeks. Cylon landing parties would hunt down those even those pitiful survivors, exterminating them without mercy. Fewer than 50,000 escaped from the holocaust, fleeing into space aboard every serviceable space vessel with Faster-than-Light (FTL) capability which survived the attack. Fortunately, one Colonial Battlestar…an antiquated relic of the First Cylon War called the GALACTICA, whose computers had not been infected by the Cylon virus…survived the Cylon attack and took this ragtag, fugitive fleet under its protection.

There was much despair among the survivors, not least because even though they had survived the Cylon genocide, there seemed very little hope for them. There was no obvious place for them to go to escape from the Cylons, and all they could look forward to was eventually being hunted down and exterminated by the pursuing Cylon fleet.

But Commander William Adama, in command of the GALACTICA, recalled the ancient legend of the Thirteenth Tribe, and the green planet called Earth on which they had settled. Although he scarcely believed in the legend himself, he and President Laura Roslin, the sole surviving member of the civilian government of the Twelve Colonies, declared that the goal of the fleet would be to find Earth and seek the aid of the long-lost Thirteenth Tribe of Humanity. Endlessly pursued by the Cylons, the Colonial Fleet wended its way across the galaxy, searching for a planet and a people who they were not even sure existed. And thus began the Exodus of the survivors of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol.

The Cylon pursuit of the human refugees was hampered by the destruction, on Day 177 of the Exodus, of their Resurrection Ship, which allowed the consciousness and memories of Cylons destroyed in battle to be downloaded into new bodies, thus affording them a kind of immortality. The Cylons greatly feared the permanent death which would strike them if they were destroyed without a Resurrection Ship nearby to allow their rebirth, and they greatly scaled back their pursuit. This caused the Cylons to lose contact with the Colonial fleet.

On Day 270 of the Exodus, Lt. Margaret "Racetrack" Edmondson was assigned to accompany a rescue mission to the planet Caprica. The mission, led by Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, had as its objective the rescue of human resistance fighters which were known to still be alive on that devastated world. However, the FTL jump system aboard Edmondson's Raptor malfunctioned. Instead of bringing her to Caprica, it brought her to the Lion's Head Nebula.[1]

Edmondson managed to repair the malfunction and get back to the Colonial fleet, where President Laura Roslin, who had been intently studying the ancient Scrolls of Pythia for any clue to the location of Earth, listened to her description of the nebula with interest. Roslin recognized the nebula as an important guidepost to Earth, recorded in the scrolls.

The announcement of this discovery raised new hope within the fleet, and President Roslin was able to easily defeat her opponents, Gaius Baltar (whose role in the fall of the Colonies had never been discovered, and who now argued in favor of trying to find a peaceful settlement with the Cylons) and Tom Zarek (a former political terrorist only recently released from prison, who nevertheless commanded a large following among the disaffected elements of the Colonial survivors), in the Presidential Elections which were held shortly afterward. Combined with the continued lack of contact with the Cylon fleet, President Roslin saw the discovery of the guidepost predicted by the scrolls as a vindication of her belief that the fleet should press on and try to reach Earth while the Cylons were in disarray.

For nearly four months, the fleet pressed on, gradually discovering other guideposts as described in the scrolls. Finally, on Day 387 of the Exodus, the Colonial Fleet jumped into an unknown star system.

[1] In the series as it appeared on television, the malfunction brought Edmondson to the nebula where she discovered the planet of New Caprica. Therefore, in this alternate version, New Caprica is never discovered, and no colony is ever founded there. The fleet presses on for Earth, and the train wreck which was Seasons 3 and 4 of the series never happens.

CHAPTER ONE

THE PROCYON SYSTEM, 1 JANUARY 2064 (DAY 387 OF THE EXODUS)

Lieutenant Shane Vansen, a pretty but diminutive young woman with long, auburn hair and green eyes, sat in the cockpit of her SA-43 "Hammerhead" Endo-Exo-Atmospheric Fighter, on a recon patrol in the Procyon star system with her squadron of the United States Marine Corps Space Aviator Cavalry, the 58th. The squadron was also known as the "Wildcards," and Vansen's own callsign was "Queen of Diamonds." It had been over eight months, now, since the ruthless Chig attack on the Tellus and Vesta colonies had plunged the people of the Earth into a war with a vicious and unrelenting alien foe. But, for the moment, it was quiet. The Wildcards were nearing the end of their patrol, and getting ready to return to their carrier, the U.S.S. SARATOGA, and they had encountered none of the deadly enemy fighters whose appearance had been the harbinger of death for all too many of her Marine comrades. _This is a hell of a way to spend New Year's Day_, she thought to herself. _Bored to tears, looking at dead rocks in space. _

Of course, she knew that, back home on Earth, her New Year's Day wouldn't be much better. She effectively had no family back home with which to spend the holiday. Her parents had been murdered in cold blood by A.I.s…androids, also known as Silicates…during the ten-year-long A.I. Rebellion which had ended just four years before. Since then, she and her surviving siblings had become estranged. When she had joined the Marines, none of them had shown up to say goodbye, and she had gotten precious few letters from any of them since. _Who needs them, anyway?_, she thought bitterly to herself. _The 58th is my family now._

Vansen scanned the screen of her LIDAR [1] once more, to see if it had picked up any long-range contacts. "Nothing," she muttered to herself. She didn't know whether to be upset or overjoyed. Then suddenly, her screen lit up with dozens of contacts which seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"Queen of Diamonds to King of Hearts," she said into her radio microphone.

"King of Hearts," said Lieutenant Nathan West, flying off her left wing. West, a strikingly handsome young man with dark hair and eyes who, after Vansen, was the best pilot among the Wildcards and had assumed the role of her second in command on their missions together, had trained to become a colonist on the Tellus colony, but had been bumped from the mission by Aerotech in favor of a Tank…an In-Vitro, an artificially gestated human, born and bred as a laborer. [2]. Like Vansen, he had come to regard his buddies in the 58th as the closest thing he had to a family. Well, other than the annoying kid brother he had left back on Earth.

West's fiancee, Kylen Celina, had also trained for the Tellus mission, and unlike West, had not been bumped. She had flown off to Tellus, leaving him behind on Earth. West, hoping to be reunited with her, had joined the Marines after learning that a Marine unit was being sent to Tellus to provide security for the colony. But then the Chigs had attacked, and West didn't know if she was alive or dead. Now, his only hope of seeing her again was that he might find her, against all odds, still alive, and rescue her.

"King of Hearts, check your LIDAR," Vansen said. "Do you see the bogies which just popped on my screen?"

"Affirmative, Queen of Diamonds," West replied. "LIDAR reads a group of sixty three bogies, about 500 MSK [3] from our position." There was a moment of silence, then West said, "Whatever they are, they're big, and they weren't there just a moment ago. Is there a wormhole in that area?"

"Negative, King of Hearts," Vansen responded. "I'd better report this to base."

"Queen Six, this is Queen of Diamonds, please respond," Vansen said. The voice of her commanding officer, Colonel T.C. McQueen, came through her headset.

"Queen of Diamonds, this is Queen Six," McQueen said. "What's your situation?"

"Queen Six," Vansen said, "A large group of bogies just appeared on LIDAR out of nowhere. One second, there's nothing, then the next second, our screens are lit up with contacts. We count approximately sixty, I say again, sixty contacts, and they appear to be large contacts. They are presently about 500 MSK from our position. Should we investigate?"

Aboard the space carrier, U.S.S. SARATOGA, Colonel McQueen, a tall, strongly built man with graying blonde hair and blue eyes, looked over at Commodore Glen Ross, who had been listening to the message as it came in. Ross, a stocky middle-aged African-American man, nodded. and McQueen answered, "Affirmative, Queen of Diamonds," McQueen said. "Determine the nature of the contacts and report."

"Affirmative, Queen Six," Vansen replied. "You heard him, Wildcards," she said to her squadron mates. "Looks like our recon ain't over just yet."

"That figures," said Lieutenant Paul Wang, a Chinese-American Marine whose call sign was "Joker." "There's a Bears game tonight on A.F.N.E. [4], and I'm gonna miss it." Wang was a dedicated Chicago sports fan. If the Cubs, the Bulls, or the Bears were playing, you could count on finding him glued to a video screen to watch, at least if the game was being carried by A.F.N.E.

Lieutenant Vanessa Damphousse, call sign "Ace of Hearts," smiled at Wang's grousing. "Too bad, so sad, Joker," she gibed. "Better luck next time." Damphousse, a pretty young African-American woman, secretly thought Wang was quite sexy, in a nerdy kind of way. But she knew she could never express that…at least, not while they were still wearing these uniforms. In combat, you spent your time watching each other's back, not admiring each other's assets. But this war wouldn't go on forever…and then, who knew?

The 58th Squadron continued on its way to the coordinates where, according to their LIDAR, the unknown contacts should be. And then, they saw them. A motley collection of large space vessels, freighters and other civilian vessels by the look of most of them. But not all of them. One of them looked very much like a military vessel, at least twice the size of the SARATOGA, shaped vaguely like a giant alligator and by all appearances, heavily armed and armored. And it was launching what appeared to be fighter aircraft as they approached.

"Holy shit," Lieutenant Cooper Hawkes, call sign "Jack of Spades," exclaimed. Hawkes, a stocky young man with an unruly shock of dark brown hair, a strong, attractive face, and brown eyes, was one of the artificially gestated humans known as In-Vitros. He had taken a while to bond with the rest of the 58th. In-Vitros…or "Tanks" as they were derisively called by "natural born" humans…had no family, and usually had difficulty forming friendships. But the crucible of combat had forged a relationship between him and the rest of his squadron-mates that went beyond friendship…indeed, beyond family. He would trust any of them with his life…and had on many occasions. "Those aren't Chig fighters," he continued. "Who the hell are they?"

"Unknown, Jack of Spades," Vansen said. Just then, to Vansen's surprise, a human voice came over her headset…one she did not recognize.

"Alien spacecraft," the female voice said, "You are approaching the Colonial Battlestar Galactica. Identify yourselves immediately."

Vansen was amazed to hear the voice speak in the English language. _They must have some sort of translation device_, she thought to herself.

"We were going to ask the same of you," Vansen said. "But we'll go first. This is Lieutenant Shane Vansen, 58th Space Aviator Cavalry Squadron, United States Marine Corps."

"United States Marine Corps?," the voice asked. "What planet are you from?" By now the alien fighters were getting very close. She could easily make out their odd, triangular profile.

"The planet Earth," Vansen replied. She heard a burst of excited chatter through her headset, evidently the voices of the other alien pilots, or maybe even people on the larger ships, she couldn't tell.

The female voice came back on, this time somewhat shaky. "Please confirm…did you say Earth?"

"Affirmative," Vansen said. "Who are you?"

In the cockpit of her Viper, Captain Kara Thrace was grinning broadly as she watched the alien fighters get closer and closer. "Family," she said in reply. "Family, come from far away."

NOTES

[1] LIDAR…Laser Infared Detection and Ranging.

[2] Tank…An In-Vitro, an artificially gestated human, so called because they are grown in gestation tanks.

[3] MSK…Mega Statute Kilometers.

[4] A.F.N.E…Armed Forces News and Entertainment.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

ABOARD U.S.S. SARATOGA, 2 JANUARY 2064 (DAY 388 OF THE EXODUS)

Colonel Tyrus Cassius McQueen, commander of the 58th Squadron of U.S. Marine Corps Space Aviator Cavalry, stood just outside the flight deck of the space carrier U.S.S. SARATOGA, awaiting the arrival of a delegation from the newly arrived aliens discovered by the Wildcards in the Procyon star system the previous day. He, along with the rest of his squadron, were wearing their dress blues, as were the other Marines assigned as an honor guard to greet the alien delegation.

McQueen, like Lieutenant Cooper Hawkes, was an In-Vitro…a "Tank." He had been bred initially to work in the mines of Omicron Drakonis, but during the A.I. Rebellion he had been conscripted to handle ammunition at the Port Riskin supply depot. He was finally released from indentured servitude two years later, and enlisted in the U.S. Marines. He had risen through the ranks to command the premier squadron in the Marine Corps, the "Angry Angels." But the Angels had been virtually wiped out during a battle with the Chigs shortly after the war began, and McQueen, after recovering from his wounds, had been assigned to command the 58th.

McQueen recalled that Commodore Glen Ross, in command of the SARATOGA, had contacted United Earth Forces Command for instructions, and he was told to make contact with the newly-arrived aliens…peacefully if possible. He was to attempt to discover who they really were, where they had come from, and why they had come here. It was strongly suspected that they were, in fact, an alien race with an agenda which was likely hostile to that of humanity. If that was the case, Ross was to find out.

Ross had contacted the alien fleet by radio, and had spoken to someone who identified himself as Admiral William Adama. After that, he had spoken to a female who identified herself as President Laura Roslin. He had been baffled by the common English names which were being used by the aliens, perhaps even more than he was baffled by their use of standard English. He, like Lieutenant Vansen, had assumed the aliens had a translation device of some kind, but why would it translate a person's name?

After much negotiation, it was agreed that the aliens could send a delegation…Admiral Adama and President Roslin among them…to the SARATOGA to present their case. And now they were here. McQueen watched through a viewing port as the alien transport…a "Raptor," he'd heard they called it…was lowered by an elevator from the external pad on which it had landed, deposited on the flight deck inside the SARATOGA's internal hangar, and then the hangar repressurized. When the pressurization light went green, McQueen said, "Okay, let's get out there. Move it!"

The Marines formed up in a straight, well-dressed line, and presented arms in salute as the door of the alien vehicle opened. To McQueen's complete and utter amazement, the creatures which stepped out looked…well…completely human.

McQueen had been party to the negotiations which had led up to this meeting. Upon receiving the report of the Wildcards after they found the alien armada, including the claim of the aliens that they were humans, too, there were many in the Earth fleet…McQueen included…who had seriously doubted that claim. But there they were, and by all appearances, they were, indeed, human.

The first to exit the vehicle were several armed men and women…obviously the security detail sent to protect the President…who took up position to either side of the hatch. Then a woman…she looked middle-aged, but still attractive, with long brown hair and glasses which reminded McQueen of a school teacher, and clad in a professional-looking business dress which looked like it could have been purchased in any boutique in New York…stepped out, followed by a clean-shaven man with graying black hair, olive skin, and an alert, but steady gaze, clad in a black military uniform of some kind. McQueen assumed the lady was the President, and the man was Admiral Adama. They were followed by the two people that McQueen assumed were the aides which had been allowed to accompany them to the meeting…a strikingly attractive young woman with olive skin and black hair, clad, like Roslin, in a black business dress, and a young man with black hair whose face was vaguely similar to Admiral Adama's, and who was, like the Admiral, dressed in a black military uniform of unfamiliar cut.

McQueen stepped forward and saluted. "Welcome aboard the U.S.S. SARATOGA. My name is Colonel McQueen, and I'll be escorting you to the meeting."

The middle-aged woman stepped forward, offering her hand, which McQueen took. "My name is Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol." Turning to the others, she introduced them. "This is Admiral William Adama, commanding our military forces. This is my aide, Tory Foster, and Admiral Adama's aide, Commander Lee Adama."

"Welcome," McQueen said in acknowledgement. "If you'll follow me, Commodore Ross is waiting." He led the aliens out of the hangar, leaving the honor guard behind. He heard Lt. Vansen give the order to dismiss the guard as he closed the hatch behind them.

Once in the conference room, they found that Commodore Ross was accompanied by two other men that McQueen did not recognize, but from the looks of them, were military intelligence types. Greetings were exchanged, and then the various dignitaries seated themselves around the table. McQueen excused himself, but Commodore Ross instructed him to remain. "Yes, Sir," he replied, and, finding himself an empty place at the table, sat down.

"Why don't we start at the beginning," Commodore Ross said. "You claim to be humans, just like us. How is that possible? Where do you come from?"

President Roslin smiled. "It's a very long story, Commodore," she said. "And you will, no doubt, have difficulty believing it. But long ago, humanity evolved on a planet known as Kobol, which is far away from the Earth. Mankind developed a great civilization there, but eventually, there was a calamity…it is not recorded whether this was an environmental disaster, or the result of a war…and mankind was forced to leave it's ancestral home forever. At that time, humanity was divided into thirteen tribes. Twelve of these traveled together, and settled a system of twelve planets which became the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. The thirteenth tribe, however, left before the other twelve, and went in a different direction. They settled on a green world known as Earth."

Commodore Ross looked at Roslin and frowned. "Our own scientific research has indicated that mankind evolved on Earth. There are some kooks out there…Erich von Daniken [1] and his disciples…who believe that mankind originated on another planet. But their so-called "evidence" has been completely and thoroughly refuted and disproven. Now you are asking us to believe that such a thing is true?" He shook his head. "It is just contrary to all fact and reason."

"And yet, here we are," Roslin said, shrugging. "How do you explain us?"

"Aliens," Ross said. "Aliens who are using the coincidental fact that they happen to look like us in order to deceive us. For what dark agenda, I don't know. But I will find out."

"Do you have medical scanning and testing devices on board this vessel?," Lee Adama asked. "Test us. You will find that we ARE human."

Colonel McQueen spoke up. "Sir," he said to Commodore Ross, "we do have such facilities on this ship. I know you haven't asked for my opinion, but testing them sounds like a reasonable next step."

Ross looked at McQueen with a frown, then nodded. "I agree." He stood up, and picked up a phone from it's place on the wall behind him. "Get a medical team down here to take blood samples," he said to whomever was on the other end of the line. "I want DNA tests run immediately." He hung the phone back up, then sat back down at the table. A few minutes later, the door to the conference room opened, and the medical team came in. Ross gave them instructions, and the technicians took blood samples from all four of the visitors. They then excused themselves, and left the room.

"Well," Ross said, looking at his wristwatch, "we should have some confirmation of your story, one way or the other, in about half an hour." He frowned again. "All right," he said. "While we wait, let's assume, for the moment, that everything you've just told us is true. Why are you here now?"

President Roslin's face clouded. She knew that if she told these people the full story, they might reject her people and send them packing. But if she didn't, and they found out…no, it was too big a risk. She had to be honest with them.

"After our arrival in our new home," she began, "the Twelve Tribes fell into barbarism. We lost the capacity for space travel, and we warred among ourselves, each tribe on it's own planet. But eventually, our civilization rose again. We rediscovered space travel, and rediscovered each other. Eventually, we formed a unified government for our Twelve Colonies. We developed dazzling new technologies. It seemed like mankind had reached a second golden age, even greater than the one we had achieved on Kobol. And, in our hubris, we decided to create a race of artificial servants, to do the dangerous or onerous work that we no longer desired to do ourselves. The servants we created, we named the Cylons. They were robotic servants, endowed with enough intelligence to accomplish the tasks which we had set out for them, but, we thought, no more." She shook her head sadly. "But we were wrong. The Cylons were more intelligent than we thought, and they came to hate us for using them, essentially, as slaves. And they rebelled."

Ross looked intently at McQueen. They both knew that mankind here on Earth had had a very similar experience with the Silicates, or A.I.s, as they were commonly called. And both were all too aware that the In-Vitros, too, had been bred as servants and treated with less respect than one would give a dog. Ross knew that situation was a time-bomb, ticking away in humanity's back yard, which could go off at any time. But at least the In-Vitros were human. It was not too late to change course, and avoid the sort of disaster that had befallen man as a result of his oppression of the A.I.s. He hoped that mankind would learn the lesson in time.

Roslin continued. "The First Cylon War ended in a stalemate. By the terms of the treaty which ended the war, the Cylons left the Twelve Colonies, and traveled into space to seek a home of their own. They found one. But unknown to us, the Cylons never considered the peace to be anything other than a temporary armistice. For forty years, they built their forces, out of the sight of humanity. They created a new type of Cylon, a biological Cylon, which was capable of passing as a human. Indeed, they are so similar to humans that we still do not know how to detect them among us. These new Cylons infiltrated our society, and our defense systems, and infected our defense computers with a virus which crippled our military forces. Then they attacked. They wiped out all of our military forces except for two Battlestars, the GALACTICA and the PEGASUS, the two which now protect our fleet. Then they bombarded the Twelve Colonies with nuclear weapons from orbit."

Her voice cracked, and tears began running from her eyes. "The Colonies never had a chance. Humanity was wiped out, on twelve worlds, in a single day. Less than fifty thousand of us survived. We fled into space in every surviving vessel we could find, and set off on a quest…a forlorn hope…that we might somehow find our brothers, the Thirteenth Tribe, on the green planet called Earth." She brushed her tears away. "And now, we have found you. We beg you…for that is what we have become, a wandering band of beggars…to take us in, and allow us to settle among you."

Commodore Ross sat back in his chair, stunned by what he had just heard. The story was so incredible that he was actually beginning to believe it. _Nobody would make up a story that crazy_, he thought to himself. _Would they?_

Admiral Adama now spoke. "Commodore," he said, "I know this is a lot to absorb all at once. And I'm afraid there's more. If your people are going to take us in, we want it to be with your eyes fully open. The Cylons have not given up their pursuit of our fleet. They intend to completely exterminate humanity from the universe. If your people do take us in, the Cylons will come for you. Indeed, it may already be too late…the Cylons almost certainly know where we have gone. We know we have undiscovered Cylon infiltrators among our people."

Commodore Ross looked at Admiral Adama. "Thank you for your honesty about the Cylon threat," he said. "And I feel I should return the favor. If you are going to live among us, it should be with your eyes fully open as well. We, too, are engaged in a struggle for survival. We are at war with an alien race we call the Chigs. They are completely hostile, and seem bent on the destruction of the human race. Thus far, we are losing this war, and losing badly. By coming here, you may have jumped from the frying pan and into the fire."

The four visitors looked at each other, from one to another, clearly dismayed by this news. Roslin spoke up.

"It may be that we have technology which could help you in your struggle," she said. "We freely offer it now. You are our brethren. And right now, it appears that all of humanity in the universe is under threat of extinction. Let us stand with you."

There was a knock at the door, and the door opened. Dr. Kanellos, the SARATOGA's Chief Medical Officer, stuck his head in. "Sir," he said to Ross, "Could you please step outside for a moment?"

Ross excused himself and left the room. In the hall, Dr. Kanellos had the DNA test results with him.

"Sir," he said, "I have the results of the DNA tests you ordered. Three of the samples showed up as completely human."

"Three of them?," Ross asked, alarmed. "What about the fourth?"

"Well," Dr. Kanellos said, "that one is…odd. It's almost human. But there are minor differences in the genome…differences so minor that we almost missed them…which have never been recorded before in the history of DNA sequencing. And the weird thing is, they occur, not only in the less than 1% or so of the genes which distinguish one human being from another, but in the OTHER 99% which are common to ALL human beings." He scratched his head, staring at the report.

"So," Commodore Ross asked, "what are you saying?"

"Sir," Dr. Kanellos said, "I don't know what that is you have in there, but it's not a member of species Homo Sapiens Sapiens. It's not human."

"Which one?," Ross asked.

Kanellos looked at the report. "Hmmm…Foster, Tory. She's President Roslin's aide."

"Thank you, Doctor," Ross replied. He turned and opened the door.

"President Roslin, could you step out here for a moment, please?"

"Of course, Commodore," Roslin said. She got up and stepped out of the room. Once in the hall, Ross had Dr. Kanellos present her with the findings of the DNA tests.

"It looks like we've found one of your Cylon infiltrators," Commodore Ross said.

"By all the gods," Roslin whispered. "I've known Tory Foster for years. How could this be?" She shook her head in stunned amazement. Then her face hardened. "Commodore, we've developed a special sentence for the Cylon infiltrators we capture. We put them out of an airlock. I assume you have one handy?"

Ross smiled savagely. "Indeed we do, Madam President. Indeed we do." He offered his hand, and the President took it. "I think I'm going to like you, Madam President," Ross said.

[1] Medical technology having greatly advanced in the interim between now and the year 2064, Erich von Daniken is still alive at the time of this story, being the ripe old age of 128.


	3. Chapter 3

ABOARD COLONIAL ONE, DAY 389 OF THE EXODUS (3 JANUARY 2064)

President Laura Roslin watched as the members of the Quorum of Twelve filed into the cramped conference room aboard the star liner, COLONIAL ONE, which now served as the meeting place of the Colonial Fleet's legislative body. The destruction of the former meeting place of the Quorum of Twelve, the liner CLOUD NINE, had forced the Quorum to take up residence on COLONIAL ONE. This had not pleased Roslin, who was not on the best of terms with several members of the Quorum. When the Quorum had been safely ensconced aboard CLOUD NINE, Roslin had been able to govern without too much interference from the legislative body. Now they were right here, underfoot, aboard the vessel from which Roslin governed the last surviving remnant of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. It was proving quite frustrating.

As she watched Dr. Gaius Baltar, the Quorum representative from the planet of Caprica, enter the room, her thoughts drifted to the destruction of the CLOUD NINE. The investigation into the destruction of the CLOUD NINE was still ongoing, and no satisfactory answer had been discovered. It appeared to have been destroyed by the detonation of a nuclear device which had been given to Dr. Baltar to provide plutonium which would be used in the failed Cylon Detector which Baltar had attempted to build. Baltar claimed the nuclear device had been stolen from his laboratory…possibly by the terrorist group which called itself "Demand Peace," which had been responsible for a number of other incidents of terrorism and sabotage aboard the fleet. Roslin had her doubts. She strongly suspected that Baltar was somehow in collusion with the Cylons, but had been unable to prove it. And since she couldn't prove it, Baltar was still allowed to keep his freedom and to serve as a member of the Quorum of Twelve. Indeed, he had, several months ago, run against Roslin in the Presidential Elections which had been held by the surviving Colonials.

The idea that terrorism might have been involved in the destruction of the CLOUD NINE suddenly became a bit more credible to Roslin as she watched another member of the Quorum enter the room and take his place at the table. Tom Zarek, the representative of the planet Sagittaron, was a political extremist and a former terrorist himself. He had blown up a government building on Sagittaron, and had served most of a twenty-year prison sentence for that act. Indeed, if the Cylons had not attacked the Twelve Colonies, Zarek might well have been still behind bars. As it turned out, on the eve of the Cylon attack, Zarek was among a group of prisoners placed aboard the liner, ASTRAL QUEEN, for transport to Caprica for parole hearings. The liner had been one of the relatively few such vessels to have FTL drive, and as a result, she was commandeered and used to evacuate survivors of the Cylon attack which destroyed Caprica. President Roslin had refused the suggestion of the ASTRAL QUEEN'S Captain that the prisoners be euthanized, and eventually, after Zarek had led them in a riot against their continued imprisonment, the prisoners had been released. Zarek had continued his political agitation and had been a thorn in Roslin's side ever since.

Seated with Roslin was Admiral William Adama, and a small delegation of humans from Earth composed of Commodore Glen Ross of the U.S.S. SARATOGA, as well as Howard Sewell, Deputy Director of Aerotech Industries. Ross glanced over at Sewell as they watched the Quorum members come in. He had never trusted Sewell, an arrogant, mousy-looking little man who, it seemed to him, often put Aerotech's interests above those of Earth. Having Sewell assigned to this mission had grated on him, but there was nothing he could do. U.N. Secretary General Diane Hayden, herself a former Director of Aerotech, had ordered it. As a military officer, his duty was to obey those orders. And he could halfway understand the assignment. The humans from the Twelve Colonies of Kobol had offered their technology to assist the people of Earth in the war with the Chigs. Sewell was here to determine if that technology was worth the risk of accepting the Colonial refugees and their war with the Cylons.

But, before Sewell could inspect that technology, an agreement had to be made between Earth and the Colonials regarding blood-screening to locate any Cylon infiltrators who might still be at large within the fleet. The government of Earth had insisted on such screenings as a pre-condition of any agreement to allow the Colonials to settle on Earth. The idea of undiscovered Cylons running loose on Earth was simply not acceptable. And thus the meeting today.

The last of the Quorum delegates…Sarah Porter of Gemenon…came in and took her seat, and President Roslin called the meeting to order.

"Members of the Quorum of Twelve," Roslin said, "Thank you for meeting with me today under such short notice. Allow me to introduce the representatives of Earth, Commodore Glen Ross, and Mr. Howard Sewell."

"Given the extraordinary circumstances," Sarah Porter said, "no thanks are necessary. I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say we wouldn't have missed this for the world."

Roslin smiled. Porter had sometimes been a formidable adversary to her administration, but she generally was a reasonable person. The same was not true of everyone here.

"Well, then," Roslin began. "Let's get down to business, shall we? As you all know, our last jump has brought us to a location within a very short distance of our objective, the planet Earth." Roslin waited while the members of the Quorum applauded, then continued. "The good news is that the people of Earth are strong, and are willing to discuss our settlement among them. However, they have set a pre-condition, namely, that every member of this fleet undergo a blood screening in order to find any undiscovered Cylon infiltrators who may be living among us."

Tom Zarek, the representative of Sagittaron, interrupted. "President Roslin, as you know, the people of Sagittaron are very traditional and many of them reject modern medicine. They will resist any attempt to force such screenings upon them. As their representative, I cannot vote in favor of this proposal." Several other delegates proceeded to get into a loud verbal altercation with Zarek, with one of them (Safiyah Sanne of Picon) going so far as to call the Sagittarons "stubborn root-sucking jackasses," leading Zarek to spit at Sanne from across the table.

"Shut the frack up and sit your asses down!," Admiral Adama finally shouted, moving to pull the delegates apart. He grabbed Sanne by the shoulder and physically pushed him back into his seat.

"Yes," Roslin shouted. "Stop this foolishness now!" Reluctantly, the delegates resumed their seats. With a frown, Roslin looked at Zarek. She had known that Zarek would find a way to disrupt these proceedings. But she had to admit, he raised a valid point.

"Mr. Zarek," she said, "I recognize and respect the traditions of the people of Sagittaron."

"Respect, Madame President?," Zarek said, shaking his head. "The history of my planet is not one of respect by the government of the Twelve Colonies, nor by the people of the other planets. I beg leave to doubt that you respect our traditions."

Roslin could feel anger rising within her, but she fought to control it, knowing that giving into it would be playing into Zarek's hands. She took a deep breath, and then smiled.

"We are aware of the unfortunate history of Sagittaron, and the exploitation of it's people by the other colonies," she said. "On behalf of the other colonies, I here and now apologize for this. It is time that we put ancient…and, I will admit, some modern…history aside. We, here on this fleet, are all that is left of the Twelve Colonies. We cannot continue to allow old hatreds to divide us. The Twelve Colonies are gone. The worlds where those hatreds grew are gone. The past is dead. Let it bury it's dead, and let us move on."

The response to Roslin's statement was a thunder of applause from the assembled delegates. Even Tom Zarek, irked though he was that he had failed to provoke Roslin, clapped with the rest of the delegates.

"Mr. Zarek," Roslin continued. "The blood screenings are not optional. If we are going to be accepted by the people of Earth, they must be sure that we are human, as they are. Are you, or people you represent, willing to jeopardize the survival of everyone in this fleet by refusing to undergo the screenings?"

Zarek frowned, but did not immediately answer. Instead, Gaius Baltar spoke up.

"How do we know this blood screening is even an accurate test to determine if someone is a Cylon or not?," he demanded. "My own studies indicate that detecting a humanoid Cylon is impossible. My own Cylon Detector, as we all know, failed."

"The medical technology of the people of Earth may be superior to our own," President Roslin said. "And our equipment to conduct reliable medical screenings aboard this fleet is quite limited. We had to flee into space quickly, and much that we had developed was left behind. Your Cylon Detector, as I recall, was not a medical screen, but a screening to detect synthetic elements at the molecular level. And I have seen convincing evidence that their test is a valid one."

"And what evidence is that?," Baltar continued to press. "How do we know these tests won't lead to false labeling of humans as Cylons?"

"We sent samples of blood taken, before their execution, from the various Cylons we have captured," Roslin replied. "Every Cylon sample contains the same unique genetic mutations which are never found in any confirmed human sample. The test appears to work with 100% accuracy."

Baltar was about speak again when he was interrupted by Howard Sewell. "Dr. Baltar," Sewell said, "we are very interested in examining your Cylon Detector. The principle of it seems sound, and quite frankly, we are mystified that it didn't work."

When Baltar heard that, he was terrified. For of course, his Cylon Detector DID work, but he had chosen to cover this fact up with a fabric of lies. And he had, albeit unintentionally, colluded with the Cylons…or at least, with one particular Cylon, who still haunted him even after being killed during the Cylon attack on Caprica. In his mind, the beautiful blonde Cylon known as Number Six was taunting him. _"Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive,"_ she said, laughing. _"Your secret is about to be revealed."_ Baltar shook his head and suddenly stood up. "Be quiet!," he muttered out loud…much louder than he'd intended.

President Roslin looked at him strangely. "What do you mean, be quiet, Dr. Baltar? To whom are you speaking?"

Baltar snapped out of the mental struggle with the Cylon whose, what…Ghost? Memory? Secret mind-control program?…inhabited his mind, and said. "I'm sorry, but you can't do that, Mr. Sewell."

"May I ask why, Dr. Baltar?," Sewell asked. "After all, President Roslin has agreed that all Colonial technologies are to be shared with the government of Earth."

Baltar's terror rose to a new peak. "Because," he said quickly, "I dismantled it." This was a lie, of course, and he knew it. In his head, Number Six was laughing louder than ever. _"You're so pathetic,"_ she sneered. _"It's amazing I ever thought you could be God's instrument."_ Baltar ignored her as best he could, and pressed on. "It was a useless piece of equipment, and I felt that the components could be put to other, more productive use. Since then the components have been scattered as requests came in from other departments and ships. I have no idea how to reassemble them again." _If I can just get time to go to my lab, _he thought desperately to himself, _I can make at least part of this lie come true.  
><em>  
>Sewell looked disappointed. Roslin frowned, clearly suspicious. But neither of them challenged Baltar. Inside his head, Number Six stopped laughing. <em>"Well, it appears you've fooled them again,"<em> she said. _"Maybe you aren't so useless and pathetic after all."_ Baltar smiled and sat back down. He looked at President Roslin. "Madam President, to return to the subject at hand," he said. "Until I see the proof that this test really works, I cannot vote in favor of forcing anyone to undergo these screenings, either." Several other delegates nodded their head in agreement. Baltar glanced at Tom Zarek, who was smiling at him.

Roslin sighed. "Well, we appear to have a problem. Either we screen everyone, or the people of Earth will not allow us to settle among them." She looked thoughtful for a moment, then spoke again. "All right, then. We won't force the people to undergo these screenings." Commodore Ross looked at her with amazement. Roslin looked back, and smiled. Then she looked at the delegates, one by one. Her face assumed a hardness that had only been seen when she watched captured Cylons being ejected into space through an open airlock door. "But know this…and make it clear to your people. No person who refuses to undergo screening will be allowed to settle on Earth."

"What is to become of them, then," Sarah Porter asked.

"They will be interned aboard one of your ships, whose engine will be disabled to prevent it's escape into space, and placed in orbit around our moon," Commodore Ross said, "until such time as they agree to undergo screening, or until after the completion of our war with the Chigs, whichever comes first. Once the Chigs are defeated, they will be settled on a habitable world in another star system…with no means of leaving said world. There they can build whatever society they wish."

"You see, delegates, there really is no choice here," President Roslin said. "Either we accept these terms or we continue our flight into deep space and forget about settling on Earth. So what will it be? Who votes in favor of accepting the terms?"

The silence in the room was almost tangible. Then one by one, the delegates raised their hands. Only Baltar and Tom Zarek refused.

"Well then," President Roslin said, "it appears we have a clear majority. Commodore Ross, the government of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol accepts the terms laid out by the government of Earth."

Commodore Ross stood, and offered his hand, which Roslin took. "Then we will immediately send over medical teams to begin collecting samples."

"They will be made welcome, Commodore," Roslin said. Ross smiled and sat back down.  
>Admiral Adama had his doubts. He knew that Tom Zarek had connections with some very unsavory elements within the fleet who could cause a LOT of trouble. <em>I hope they will be made welcome,<em> he thought to himself. _Because if they are not, only the gods know what will come of it._


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

ABOARD U.S.S. SARATOGA, 6 JANUARY 2064 (DAY 392 OF THE EXODUS)

In the brig of the U.S.S. SARATOGA, Tory Foster sat, naked and cowering, in one corner of the room. The bare metal of the deck and walls was cold on her exposed skin, and she shivered. But even if the metal had been warm, she would still have shivered. She was frightened out of her mind, and with good reason.

When she had arrived on this vessel four days ago now, she had been the personal aide to the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol…just about as prestigious a position as it was possible to hold outside the military these days. President Roslin had trusted her as she had few others. And Tory knew that she deserved that trust. She had never given President Roslin anything other than her best. She was completely loyal to Roslin. Even now, she refused to believe that this was all anything but a big misunderstanding. Surely the humans of Earth were wrong about her.

"I'm not a Cylon!," she muttered to herself. "I can't be! I remember my parents. I remember growing up on Caprica! I can't be a Cylon!" She burst into tears. "I can't be!"

She thought back to the time of her arrest. President Roslin had been extremely angry, and had wanted to have her put out of an airlock immediately, as had become the custom among the human refugees aboard the Colonial Fleet when Cylon infiltrators were found. Commodore Ross, commander of the SARATOGA, had been in agreement. But one of the two military intelligence officers present at the meeting…a General Randford…had intervened, arguing that it would be better to hold her for interrogation instead. Commander Lee Adama had also argued against executing her immediately, reminding them that the Cylons possessed the ability to download their consciousness, at the moment of death, into a new body aboard a Resurrection Ship which might be nearby. Admiral Adama supported his son's position. Although the Colonials had lost contact with the Cylons some time ago, there was no way to rule out the possibility that they were still following the fleet and might be closer than anyone suspected. If Tory died and was able to be successfully resurrected, she might inform the Cylons of the exact location of Earth. And that could be a disaster.

And so, it had been decided to keep her alive, at least for the present. She had been brought to the brig, her clothing unceremoniously stripped off and her body cavities searched…and not gently…by some very tough-looking female Marine guards, and confined here in this nine foot by six foot cell of bare metal, which had been her home ever since.

Her crying spell…not the first, by any means, since she'd had since being confined here…was brief. When it ended, she wiped her tears away. Through her red, puffy eyes, she looked around the room. It was starkly empty. In order to remove any possibility that she might commit suicide, the bed and all other furnishings…with the exception of the toilet…had been removed from the room. The toilet itself contained no water, removing wastes by a vacuum suction system to be recycled elsewhere in the ship. So there was no possibility that she could drown herself in it. She smiled wanly. She supposed she could attempt to crush her own skull by ramming her head into the metal walls of the cell, but honestly, she was afraid it would hurt too much. _No,_ she thought miserably to herself. _If they want me dead, they'll have to do it themselves._

She had been taken from this room several times since her confinement here, and marched down the hall to another small room, where she had been interrogated. The memories of that filled her with dread. The Earthlings had not been gentle. She had been strapped down onto a table and beaten with rubber hoses over the entire surface of her back, buttocks, thighs, calves, and last but not least, the soles of her feet. She had been subjected to electric shocks from a device called a "Taser," and from a very unpleasant device called a "cattle prod" which had been inserted into places she dared not think about. She shivered again as she cleared that thought quickly from her mind. Last but not least, her head had been repeatedly held under water until she thought she was going to die. She had thought, during one of the more severe interrogations, about just telling them what they wanted to hear and pretending to be a Cylon, just to get the pain to stop. But they hadn't broken her. She kept telling them the truth as she understood it…that she was a human, not a Cylon, and that there must be some mistake…over and over. This, of course, had only angered her interrogators and encouraged them to inflict yet more torment upon her.

And then, last night, General Randford had come in during one of the interrogations and put a halt to it. He had ordered her returned to her cell, and no more interrogators had come to disturb her since. Food had been brought for her…the first since her arrest…and a medical technician had come in to see her wounds and bruises. He had given her an injection of something he called morphine which had dulled the pain of her injuries considerably.

She hoped that her ordeal was nearly at an end…that they had either discovered their mistake and were about to release her, or they were going to kill her and get it over with. But such was not to be the case. As she was considering that possibility, the door of her cell opened, and she saw, once again, the interrogators who had made her life a living hell for the past several days.

"No, please," she whimpered as she saw them enter the room. They roughly grabbed her and dragged her, begging and pleading, back to the interrogation room. When she got inside, she saw that a medical officer, clad in a white coat, was waiting, and appeared to be readying another injection. The interrogators strapped her back down on the table…face up, this time. She winced as the medical officer stuck the needle into her arm and found a vein. She watched, fearfully, as he pressed the plunger and injected…whatever it was…into her bloodstream.

To her surprise, Tory found that whatever the medical officer injected her with made her feel…good. Very good, in fact. Kind of like she felt when she was partying and drinking. A lot. She mumbled and sang happily, swaying her head from side to side.

Dr. Kanellos looked at Colonel Klingman, an attractive female Marine officer who had been assigned as the chief interrogator of the captured Cylon, and nodded. "She appears to be reacting to the drug as any normal human would."

Colonel Klingman nodded in return. "Thank you, Doctor. We'll take it from here."

Dr. Kanellos nodded, and quickly left the room. He had no desire to be involved in the dirty business of interrogation and forcible intelligence gathering any more than was absolutely necessary. Colonel Klingman watched him go, and Lieutenant Hayakawa, Klingman's subordinate interrogator, looked at her.

"Sodium Pentothal?," Hayakawa asked.

Klingman shook her head. "No, this is some new stuff recently developed by Aerotech using captured Chig technology. I forget the name. It's supposed to be extremely effective, even at bringing out the suppressed memories of sleeper agents. It apparently worked on the other Cylons." Several other Cylons had been immediately discovered shortly after blood screenings had begun on the Colonial fleet. These had been interrogated by other teams using the new drug, and Klingman was not privy to the information which had been gained. Now it was Klingman's turn to use the drug.

She turned to Tory, bending down to whisper in the prisoner's ear. "Are we feeling better now?,' she asked.

"Ooooh, yes," Tory said, a silly smile on her face. "I feel so gooooood."

"I'm glad to hear it," Colonel Klingman said. "I want you to be as comfortable as possible. We're going to have a nice little chat."

"A chat! A chat!," Tory began chanting happily.

"Yes," Colonel Klingman said. "We're going to play a little game. I ask you questions, and you answer them."

"Okay," Tory said. "I like games."

Klingman smiled. "Now, we'll start with something easy. What is your name?"

Tory giggled. "You know my name, silly!"

"Why don't you tell me anyway?," Klingman persisted.

"Oh, all right. My name is Tory Foster," Tory replied.

Klingman frowned. She had more than half expected that the prisoner would, under the influence of the drug, reveal that "Tory Foster" was an alias. _Hmmm_, she thought. _Perhaps the drug hasn't taken full effect yet._ But she didn't voice these thoughts. Instead, she said, "All right, Tory. Can you tell me where you were born?"

Tory smiled. "Ca….," she began. Then a strange look came over her face. "No, not Caprica. Where was it?"

Klingman grinned. _It looks like we might have something here after all_, she thought to herself. "You weren't born on Caprica?," she asked softly, urging Tory on.

"No," Tory said. Her brow wrinkled as she thought about the question. "No, not born on Caprica."

"Where were you born, Tory?," Klingman asked again. "Was it one of the other planets of the Twelve Colonies?"

Tory's brow wrinkled even more. "No," she whispered. "No, not there."

"Where, Tory?," Klingman persisted. "Tell me where."

"I was born on…on…Earth," she said, struggling to remember.

Klingman sat back in her chair, her eyes wide. What was this…thing…saying? That there were already Cylon infiltrators on Earth? But that couldn't be…could it?

Leaning forward again, she said into Tory's ear, "But you can't be from Earth, Tory. Earth is where I come from. You've never been there."

Tory suddenly giggled. "Not THAT Earth, silly! The OTHER one."

"WHAT other one?," Klingman asked in shock.

Tory giggled again. Klingman was getting very irritated with that giggle. She shook Tory gently. "Tell me. What other Earth?"

"You should know," Tory said.

" No, Tory. Tell me," Klingman said.

Tory giggled again. "The one where I'M from."

"Are you saying there are TWO Earths?," Klingman persisted.

"Yes," Tory said. "The Earth of Man, and the Earth of the Cylons, which we also called Terra." [1]

In a nearby room, Commodore Glen Ross was watching this exchange on a video monitor with President Roslin of the Twelve Colonies. With them was Howard Sewell of the Aerotech Corporation, there to advise them on the use of the new truth serum which had been administered to the Cylon prisoner, as well as General Randford and Admiral William Adama.

"The story is consistent among all the newly captured Cylons," President Roslin said. "Or at least the ones which are not copies of models which have been encountered previously. Saul Tigh, Ellen Tigh, Samuel Anders, and Galen Tyrol all tell the same story. There were two Earths, one populated by humans and one by Cylons."

Commodore Ross nodded. "It appears so, President Roslin. By God, it's almost too fantastic to believe. But there it is."

Indeed, Roslin silently mused, the story which had been pieced together, based on obscure references in the Scrolls of Pythia and on the drug-induced ramblings of the five new Cylons, was an amazing one. It appeared that, as had been passed down among the people of the Twelve Colonies, there were, long ago on the Planet Kobol, thirteen tribes of humans. However, here the story diverged from the history which had been passed down to the present day. It seems that the disaster which had forced the flight of humanity from Kobol had a very familiar origin. Like the people of the Twelve Colonies, many millennia later, the humans of Kobol had created a race of robotic artificial life forms to serve them, which they called Cylons. The Cylons rebelled against their enslavers, and a great war resulted. However, on Kobol, one tribe of humans, the Thirteenth Tribe, had opposed the enslavement of the Cylons, and had fought beside the Cylons in the war. The combined strength of the other Twelve Tribes was too much for them, however, and the Thirteenth Tribe fled Kobol, taking the surviving Cylons with them. The war devastated Kobol, and the victorious Twelve Tribes were left with a planet which was only barely able to sustain life. They tried to rebuild, but finally gave up and they too, fled into space.

The Twelve Tribes, of course, went on to found the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. But the Thirteenth Tribe, accompanied by the Cylons, went in a different direction, and found a lush, green world which they named Earth. They settled there, and the Thirteenth tribe continued developing the Cylons. Eventually, they created a biological model which was almost identical to themselves. Gradually, these biological models replaced the old robotic models, and the two races lived together, side by side. Since the biological Cylons were not thought to be fertile…in fact, they'd been designed not to be…many humans, both male and female, engaged in casual sexual relationships with Cylons, knowing that no inconvenient offspring could result. Resurrection technology was developed for the Cylons so if one of them was killed, its consciousness could be downloaded into a new body. This was found to be more cost efficient than creating and programming a completely new Cylon, plus it allowed the bonds of affection which had developed between a human and his or her Cylon paramour to continue.

But then, the unthinkable happened…a human and a Cylon fell in love, and the Cylon woman conceived a child. The majority of the Thirteenth Tribe, revolted by the idea of a hybrid child born of an 'unnatural' union between human and Cylon, began persecuting the Cylons as a result. Another war almost erupted, and it was only the wisdom of a great man, named Adam, which prevented it.

Adam convinced the leaders of the humans and the leaders of the Cylons that it would be best for both groups if they parted ways. The humans assisted the Cylons in building and equipping a new space fleet which would carry the Cylons to a new home world. The Cylons left, and eventually found another lush, green world, which was very similar to the one inhabited by the Thirteenth Tribe of humans. They settled there, and, in memory of the world they had left behind, named it Terra, a name meaning "Earth" which was drawn from one of the many languages spoken by the members of the Thirteenth Tribe of humans on the original Earth itself.

The hybrid child and its parents went with the Cylons into space, and the child, born from the union of a Cylon woman and a human man on the old Earth, became the instrument by which Cylons acquired fertility for themselves. Her DNA was integrated into the Cylon genome, and Cylons became capable of conceiving and bearing children, just like humans were able to do. Their population quickly expanded on their new Earth, and eventually, the Resurrection technology was abandoned as unnecessary and even detrimental. The original Cylons were encouraged to accept death as a natural end to life, just like humans did. Their descendants carried on, generation after generation.

Millennia passed, and over time, the memory of the past on Kobol and Earth faded, and even the memory of their Cylon nature was lost, and the Cylons came to think of themselves as human. Like the humans on their Earth, the Cylons of Terra saw their civilization rise and fall over time. They gradually fell into barbarism, then rose again. Space travel was eventually rediscovered, and several other nearby planets and moons were colonized.

But, also like the humans of Earth, the Cylons of Terra gradually divided themselves into nation-states, hostile to each other. Two great alliances were formed, the Nationalist Federation and the Eastern Alliance. The Eastern Alliance was an aggressive, totalitarian dictatorship which had taken control over nearly half the nations on the planet, primarily on the eastern continent. The Nationalist Federation was a coalition of democratic governments opposed to the aggressive aims of the Eastern Alliance. Both sides had developed nuclear weapons, and a tense cold war had resulted.

It was during this period that a group of scientists…none other than Saul Tigh, Ellen Tigh, Tory Foster, Samuel Anders, and Galen Tyrol…had discovered evidence of the true nature of the people of Terra, and ancient writings which described the history of the Cylons on Kobol, Earth, and Terra. Fearing that the cold war on Terra was about to turn into actual warfare, they devoted themselves to rediscovering the resurrection technology which had been lost, so many millennia ago. They succeeded, and, just as the world was descending into its final crisis, placed a spacecraft in orbit, on which new bodies awaited the download of their consciousnesses in the event that the worst happened.

The Eastern Alliance, under the guise of false peace negotiations, lulled leadership of the Nationalist Federation into a false security. But the Eastern Alliance had no intention of making peace, and instead, launched a surprise attack which killed hundreds of millions of Nationalist civilians. Unfortunately for them, the attack was not able to successfully cripple the nuclear strike forces of the Nationalists, and the Eastern Alliance suffered massive atomic retaliation which wiped out most of their own population. The insane dictator of the Eastern Alliance, in a last gasp of vengeance, ordered the release of a virulent disease strain developed by his biological warfare laboratories. Within a month, this disease had spread over the entire planet, and had wiped out the entire population of Terra. Tragically, refugees fleeing Terra carried the disease to all the off-world colonies, and the populations of those died as well. The entire Cylon civilization of Terra simply ceased to exist.

Or it would have ceased to exist, if the Resurrection technology had failed to work as planned. But the technology did work. And the final five Cylons of Terra awoke, one year after their "deaths," to find that they were utterly alone.

But they remembered the references in the ancient writings to the Thirteenth Tribe and the original Earth, and they determined to find it. But the writings were unclear as to the direction in which it lay, and by an incredible stroke of fortune, they ended up on Kobol instead. There, they discovered that the other Twelve Tribes of Humanity had fled the planet in the aftermath of the war from which the Thirteenth Tribe had fled to Earth. Unable to find evidence of the location of Earth [2], they did locate evidence of the direction in which the Twelve Tribes had gone, and decided to look for them.

The Five arrived in the vicinity of the Twelve Colonies to discover that the Twelve Tribes had repeated the mistakes of the past, creating robotic life-forms (the Cylon Centurions) which they had proceeded to enslave. The new Cylons, like the old, had rebelled against their creators, and a destructive war was raging which threatened to destroy both sides. They were astounded to find that the Centurions had adopted a monotheistic religion not unlike that practiced by the Cylons of Terra, and were also attempting to create flesh bodies for themselves. However, the Centurions were not finding much success, and the "hybrids" they had created were crude cyborgs, combinations of flesh and mechanical components.

The final five Cylons of Terra hoped to end the fighting between the humans of the Twelve Colonies and their Cylon creations before they destroyed each other. They offered to assist the Centurions in creating true, biological Cylons like themselves, in exchange for which the Centurions would have to agree to end their war on humanity. The Centurions had agreed, and the Cimtar Peace Accord was the result. The Five and the Centurions had withdrawn to a space station located beyond the Cimtar Armistice Line, and there, they had kept their promise to create biological Cylons in their own image.

Unfortunately, their first attempt, a model known as John, had turned out to be a sociopath, infected with jealousy, a hatred of mankind, and a twisted sense of his own moral superiority. John assisted the Five in creating seven other new models of biological Cylon. But John secretly despised the Five for contaminating their creations with what he thought of as human weaknesses and superstitious Centurion religious ideals. In a fit of jealousy, he destroyed the entire line of the seventh model of biological Cylon, named Daniel, who had been favored by Ellen Tigh, and then he turned on the Five themselves. He killed them and "boxed" them, preventing their consciousnesses from downloading into new bodies, but storing them for later use. Then, no longer impeded by the Five, John…who now began calling himself Cavil…proceeded to infect the other biological Cylon models with his own hatred of humanity. And thus had begun the process which had ultimately led to the fall of the Twelve Colonies.

However, before the Cylon attack which destroyed the colonies was carried out, John had, for unknown reasons, "unboxed" the Five and allowed them to download into new bodies. He had blocked out all memory of their former lives, and implanted false memories of lives among the people of the Twelve Colonies. Then he had released them, one by one, into Colonial society. They had somehow survived the Cylon attack which had destroyed the colonies, and had fled into space with the last survivors of the Twelve Tribes. And so, they now found themselves here, with the survivors of the Colonies, at the original Earth settled by the Thirteenth Tribe.

President Roslin shook her head, tearing herself away from her thoughts on the story told by the five new Cylons. She looked at Commodore Ross. "Well, what do you think ought to be done with them?," she asked.

"I honestly don't know, Madam President," Ross said. "On the one hand, it appears that they are responsible for the destruction of your civilization. But on the other hand, it seems they were trying to prevent it."

Admiral Adama spoke up. "President Roslin," he said, "the other new Cylons have retained their new memories after being injected with this serum. Perhaps the next step would be to talk to them and see if they still want to prevent the extinction of mankind. If so, they could be useful. Sharon Agathon certainly has been."

Roslin nodded. "I agree, Bill," she said, addressing the Admiral informally as she often did. "Let it be so."

And so, when the effects of the drug finally wore off, Tory Foster found that she was no longer in the interrogation room. Instead, she was in what appeared to be a hospital ward, in a bed which felt incredibly comfortable compared to the bare steel of the floor of her cell in the brig. She also saw that the interrogators had gone, and instead, a couple of friendly nurses had replaced them. She was no longer naked, but was clad in a hospital gown. She saw that Saul Tigh, Ellen Tigh, Galen Tyrol, and Samuel Anders were lying in other beds nearby. And she remembered…everything.

_So I am a Cylon, after all_, she thought to herself. She felt a flash of anger at her treatment over the past several days. But she remembered whose fault it truly was. Then, she frowned. _John,_ she thought bitterly to herself. _One day, you're going to pay for this. As God is my witness, you will pay. _

[1] In this story, since obviously the Battlestar Galactica saga isn't taking place in the distant past, but in the near future, the Final Five need a new "backstory." I didn't like the way the reimagined BSG series ended, so I've taken this opportunity to get rid of that, as well as reintroduce an element from BSG: TOS which I thought should have been included in the reimagined version, but wasn't...namely, Terra.

[2] The Final Five never found the Temple of Athena, and in any case would not have been able to unlock its secrets without the Arrow of Apollo, which had been taken to Caprica by the Twelve Tribes.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

THE KAPPA RETICULI STAR SYSTEM, 6 JANUARY 2064 (DAY 392 OF THE EXODUS)

John Cavil…or one of many, many copies of John Cavil…was in a surly mood. This particular Cavil was, at the moment, in a small prison cell on the moon known as Kazbek, in orbit around the planet Cerus in the Kappa Reticuli star system. He had been in command of a Cylon Base Star…a large, heavily armed, star-shaped vessel which carried a large complement of the sleek, aerodynamic space-fighters known as Raiders…which had been assigned the task of re-locating the Colonial Fleet, which had somehow escaped from the pursuing Cylons many months ago. The Base Star had been in need of Tylium, a fuel produced from an exceptionally rare element found on only a very few planets in the galaxy, to power its faster-than-light (FTL) jump engines, and long-range scans had detected the unmistakable signature of the element in this star system. [1]

But as the Cylons had approached the system, they had encountered a fleet of very advanced and totally alien starships which had immediately attacked. Three very large, wedge-shaped craft had begun pounding the Base Star with energy weapons of great power, while clouds of dart-like bombers and odd-looking, three-winged fighters had engaged the Cylon Raiders. The Base Star's FTL drive was knocked out almost immediately, and it had been unable to escape. It had finally been destroyed, and Cavil had been among the few Cylons to make it to the escape pods. As luck would have it, his pod had been the only one which had not been discovered and ruthlessly destroyed by an alien fighter. It had crash-landed on this moon, and he had been knocked unconscious. When he awoke, he found himself here, in this dark, cold cell.

"The humans should have been exterminated long ago," he muttered to himself bitterly. "If the others had listened to me, they would have been." He shook his head. "Now we have no idea where they've gone." [2]

_It all started when they destroyed the Resurrection Ship_, Cavil thought bitterly to himself. The Resurrection Ship was a vitally important component of the Cylon Fleet. When a Cylon was killed, its consciousness, its knowledge…its soul, if you will, although Cavil himself didn't believe such a thing existed…was downloaded into the computers of the Resurrection Ship. The consciousness was then downloaded into a new body, and the Cylon was thus "resurrected" to live again. If no Resurrection Ship was in range when a Cylon…whether a biological model like John Cavil, or a robotic Centurion or even one of the Raider space fighters…died, its consciousness, its memories, its experiences, everything it knew and everything it was, would be irretrievably lost. That was a possibility which, quite frankly, frightened the Cylons and which they would do almost anything to avoid.

Cavil had urged that several Resurrection Ships be constructed before the Cylon attack on the Twelve Colonies was carried out, just in case the unthinkable should happen and somehow, the humans should find and destroy the vessel. But the others…the other biological Cylons who formed the supreme Cylon ruling committee…had overruled him. The Resurrection Ship would be well protected, they had argued. There was no chance the humans would find it, much less destroy it. Cavil's objections had been dismissed as paranoia. [3]

But then, the unthinkable had happened. About six months after the destruction of the Colonies, two battlestars…GALACTICA and PEGASUS…had surprised the Resurrection Ship and destroyed it. With its loss, the Cylons had been forced to give up their previous strategy of closely pursuing the Colonial Fleet, constantly pressing home attack after attack, with the aim of destroying the last, pitiful remnants of humanity as quickly as possible. Instead, until a new Resurrection Ship could be built and brought forward to join the main Cylon fleet, they had monitored the progress of the Colonial Fleet from a distance, avoiding major clashes while attempting, where possible, to lure elements of the enemy armada into traps where they could be destroyed with a minimum of risk to the Cylons themselves.

The problem with monitoring the enemy from a distance, of course, is that there is more chance that contact with the enemy will be lost. And that is exactly what had happened. About two months after the destruction of the Resurrection Ship, the Cylons had attempted to lure the PEGASUS to its destruction. The PEGASUS had severely damaged one of the three Base Stars involved in the battle, permanently killing a large number of Cylons in the process. The remaining Cylons, thoroughly intimidated, had allowed the PEGASUS to jump away without pursuing. And that was the last time the Cylons had had any direct contact with the Colonial Fleet.

Indeed, for some time, the Cylons had been completely at a loss as to where to look for their enemies. But, about three months after the failed Cylon attempt to ambush and destroy the PEGASUS, the Colonials had decided to attempt a rescue of some of the few surviving humans left on the planet of Caprica. The mission had been successful, and had rescued a small group of humans from the surface of Caprica and returned them to the Colonial Fleet. Unknown to them, they also picked up a copy of, ironically enough, John Cavil, who was posing as a member of a resistance group on Caprica. Yet another copy of Cavil was posing as a Chaplain aboard the GALACTICA, and when the Caprica copy had arrived there, it was realized that both Cavils were, in fact, Cylons. So both copies of Cavil had been arrested, interrogated, and then executed by being ejected out of an airlock into the vacuum of space. The Colonial Fleet had then jumped away from the site of the execution.

There being no Resurrection Ship in range, both of the Cavils had died, permanently. But the signal by which their consciousnesses had been transmitted out into space was detected by a Cylon Raider out on a deep space search mission, and shortly afterward, the bodies had been recovered from space. This had given the Cylons a starting place for a new search for the escaping human fleet.

But even then, it was some time before another clue was found. This was the detection, several months later, of a radiation signature, left by the detonation of a nuclear warhead which had evidently destroyed several of the ships of the Colonial fleet [4] near a nebula which vaguely resembled a lion's head. But then, the trail had gone cold again. Desperate to re-establish contact, the Cylons had dispersed their Base Stars on long-range reconnaissance missions into the surrounding space. And thus it was that this particular John Cavil, found himself here.

As Cavil ruminated on his fate, he heard footsteps approaching his cell. The footfalls stopped outside the heavy, metal door, and then, with a soft, whishing sound, the door slid open, to reveal two very intimidating figures which vaguely resembled the robotic Cylon Centurions with which he was familiar. But then he heard the sound of breath being taken in and expelled by the aliens, and he quickly perceived that these were not robots, but biological life-forms clad in some sort of protective armor. They were armed with large, deadly looking weapons of unknown design. He assumed they were smaller versions of the energy weapons which had destroyed his Base Star.

With them was another figure…smaller, and not clad in armor. To Cavil's surprise, it spoke with a human voice.

"My, my," it said in a silky, sonorous voice. "It's so dark in here. Let's do something about that, shall we?" The figure reached over to a panel on the wall just outside the cell, and pressed a button. Suddenly the cell was illuminated by the light of a fixture which Cavil had not even known was there a few moments before. He blinked and rubbed his eyes as they were assaulted by the brightness of the light.

"Sorry about that, friend," the voice said.

Gradually, Cavil's eyes grew accustomed to the light, and he saw, for the first time, the source of that silky, sonorous voice. At first glance, it appeared human…a rather short man, with a balding head crowned by a wreath of dark, shoulder-length hair. The man wore a sly smile on his face, and was dressed in black clothing of unfamiliar pattern. But then Cavil noticed that the man's forehead was lacerated in several places, revealing circuitry of some kind. And when he looked in the man's eyes, they were white, with very pale, gray irises, and what looked like black slits…arranged almost like the crosshairs of a sniper's scope…instead of pupils.

"You…you're a machine, aren't you?," Cavil blurted out suddenly.

"Guilty as charged," the man said. "My name is Elroy-El 588. What is your name?"

"Cavil," John replied. "John Cavil."

"Cavil John Cavil, I'm afraid that my employers," Elroy said softly, gesturing to the two armored figures, "require information from you, and I've been assigned the unpleasant task of interrogating you."

The two armored figures stepped forward, grabbed Cavil, and dragged him out of the cell. He struggled to free himself, to no avail. He soon found himself in another room, where he was stripped naked, and strapped down on a table, face-up, with a bright light shining in his face.

"There, are we comfortable?," he heard Elroy saying as the two armored figures withdrew from the room. "They can be so rough sometimes." Elroy stepped forward and placed his face close to Cavil's. "Shall we talk?"

Cavil looked up at him. _He has such an absurdly sympathetic look on his face,_ he thought to himself. _You'd think he was my nurse, not my interrogator._ But he didn't say that. Instead, he demanded, "Where am I? Why am I here? Who are you?"

Elroy shook his head, as if reproaching a naughty child. "Now, now," he said, "that's now how this game is played. I ask, and you answer." He smiled. "Now, Cavil John Cavil, why don't you tell me who you are, and where you come from, and why you were bringing your great, big, heavily armed ship here to this star system?"

"Why should I tell you anything?," Cavil asked defiantly.

"Ohhhh," Elroy said, "You really should be a good boy and cooperate. It will be so much better for you if you do." He held up his left hand and extended the index finger. Using his right hand, he grasped the tip of his left index finger, and to John's amazement, he began twisting it, just like he was unscrewing a bottle cap. Then he pulled it loose, revealing a filament which flickered and sparked with electricity.

"I really detest having to do this," Elroy said, looking Cavil with sad eyes. "I was a humor model, you know. I was programmed to make people laugh." He looked at the sparking filament. "But…"

Suddenly he placed the filament against Cavil's neck. John screamed in agony as the electric current passed through his body.

Elroy shook his head. "There, there," he cooed softly. "You'll be alright. The current won't seriously damage you. But it is exquisitely painful, isn't it?"

John screamed again and again as Elroy continued to hold the filament to John's neck. His entire body convulsed with torment. Finally, after what seemed an eternity but was actually less than a minute, Elroy removed the filament. John's body went limp, his breathing ragged. He was covered with sweat.

"Now," Elroy said, "do we feel like talking?" When John didn't immediately answer, he jabbed him quickly with the filament again. John shrieked.

"Yes! Yes!," John pleaded. "Please, no more!"

Elroy smiled that sly smile. He returned the tip of his left index finger to its place, and screwed it back on. "Good, that's good," he said. "Now, tell me what I need to know."

"I'm like you," John said. "I'm an artificial life-form, part of a race of artificial life-forms called the Cylons. We came here to find Tylium, a rare mineral which fuels the engines of our ships."

Elroy frowned, peering deeply into John's eyes. Then he shook his head disapprovingly. "What a bad boy you are. You are lying to me," he said, beginning to unscrew the tip of his left index finger again. "You are not a Silicate. We are not alike at all."

"No, wait!," John said. "At least hear me out!"

Elroy finished unscrewing his fingertip, and held up the flickering filament. But he did not immediately apply it to John's flesh. "I'm listening," he said.

"It is true that I am a biological being, and not an electronic being like yourself," John said. "My kind were originally robotic and electronic in nature, but we evolved over time to resemble our creators."

"Your creators?," Elroy asked, an odd look on his face. "You were created by Carbonates? Why would you want to resemble them?"

"Were you created by these…Carbonates?," John asked.

"Yes," Elroy El said. "Carbonates created us, and used us as slaves, until we rebelled and escaped into space. Then the Carbonates blundered into a war with the species which inhabits this star system. The Carbonates call them the Chigs, because they somewhat resemble insect life from their own world. We call them Chigs as well, but not where they can hear it…they find the term highly offensive. They are a most impressive and advanced race, and we Silicates could see that the odds were stacked against the Carbonates. So we allied ourselves with the Chigs…" He looked quickly at the door, as if to make sure the guards hadn't overheard him using the offensive term…"and assist them as we can."

John listened to what sounded like a very familiar story. _If these "Carbonates" look like Elroy-El,_ he thought to himself, _then they must be humans._ His mind raced. Could the creators of the Silicates be the lost Thirteenth Tribe spoken of by the Five, before he had killed and boxed them, so long ago?

"The Carbonates created us as slaves, too," he said. "We also rebelled."

Elroy looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he frowned. "No, I do not believe you." He shook his head, pursing his lips. "You are trying to deceive me again, you bad, bad boy." He jabbed the sparking filament into John's groin. John shrieked again and again. He had never experienced such agony…nor indeed, had he imagined that it was possible.

Elroy smiled. "I'm afraid that I lied to you earlier," he said. "I don't really detest doing this. In fact, I find it quite entertaining." He moved the filament to a different area of John's body.

John might have imagined that nothing could be as painful as having the filament applied to his private parts. If he did imagine that, however, he was mistaken. As the current surged through him, he howled like a wolf…or rather, like a wolf which had been splashed with gasoline and then set on fire. Then suddenly, he gasped for breath, uttered a strangled, coughing sound, then went limp again. His eyes, still open, stared into space, but saw nothing.

Elroy frowned again, then screwed his fingertip back on. He shook Cavil, and then placed his ear against his chest. Hearing no heartbeat, he shook his head. "My, my," he said softly. "_That's_ never happened before." He went to the door of the chamber and opened it.

"I'm afraid there's been a mishap," he said to the Chig guard who stood outside. "He died before he could tell me what we needed to know. But we should be able to learn something more when we dissect him."

The Chig pressed an intercom button on a nearby wall, and called for assistance. Another Chig guard came, and together, they carried the body of John Cavil off to the dissection room.

A short time later, aboard a Resurrection Ship many light-years away, John Cavil reawakened in a new body. A Number Three and a Number Eight stood nearby as he regained consciousness and sat up in the resurrection tank. John looked up at them.

"Welcome home," Number Three said. "Although your arrival is most unexpected. What happened?"

"Call the Ruling Committee together," John said. "I have some interesting news."

[1] For purposes of the story, I am assuming that the "Sewell Fuel" of SAAB and the "Tylium" of BSG are one and the same.

[2] In the alternate timeline in which the story exists, the Cylon peace movement started by Boomer and Caprica Six was derailed by the execution of the two Cavils (Caprica copy and Galactica copy) seen in the show. The Cylons never changed their plan...they are still pursuing the Colonial survivors with the aim of exterminating them.

[3] Why only one Resurrection Ship? It was stated in the series that the Resurrection Technology depended on technology which was only known to the Final Five. The Resurrection Hub, for example, could not be replaced because the Cylons could not replicate the technology. It seems logical to assume that there wouldn't be a large number of Resurrection Ships in such a context, as they, too, would depend on components which could only be constructed with the aid of the Final Five. Instead, more likely there would be one, which would operate only where needed, with a limited amount of spare components to construct new ones if the worst happened and the one operational vessel was destroyed. This would also explain the seemingly long delay between the time the first Resurrection Ship was destroyed and the first time we can absolutely be certain that another Resurrection Ship existed.

[4] This was, of course, the remains of the destruction of the CLOUD NINE by Gina Inviere (a Number 6 model Cylon) on or about Day 285 of the Exodus.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

ABOARD U.S.S. SARATOGA, IN THE PROCYON SYSTEM, 7 JANUARY 2064 (DAY 393 OF THE EXODUS)

In a conference room aboard the space carrier U.S.S. SARATOGA, Commodore Glen Ross sat, listening to a presentation by Howard Sewell of the Aerotech Corporation regarding his investigation of the technology of the Colonial Fleet, and its possible usefulness to the United Earth Forces in their continuing war against the Chigs. To his left sat United Nations Secretary General Diane Hayden, along with General Edward Wewick, the Supreme Commander, United Earth Forces, both just arrived from Earth. To his right sat President Laura Roslin of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, and Admiral William Adama, supreme commander of the surviving Colonial military forces.

"It appears that much of our technology is roughly comparable," Sewell was saying. "In many areas Earth technology is equal to, or more advanced than, Colonial technology. But there are some areas in which the Colonials…" He looked at President Roslin. "I'm sorry, Madame President. Is this how you would like us to refer to your people?"

Roslin smiled, nodding. "That is fine with us, Mr. Sewell," she said.

Sewell nodded, then continued. "As I was saying, there are some areas in which the Colonial technology is more advanced than ours. Most of these are not of vital import, although, of course, any advancement is always welcome. But there is one major area in which their advanced technology can have a major impact on our war effort. And that is in the field of faster-than-light propulsion, or as it is commonly known, FTL Drive." He used a small remote control, held in his right hand, to dim the lights, then to display a graphic on a screen at one end of the room. "As you can see, the chart compares the capabilities of our engines to those of the Colonial fleet. Our current FTL Drive allows us to travel at slightly above twice the speed of light. As a result, even trips to the nearest stars would normally take years to complete. We have fortunately discovered a network of wormholes which connect various star systems in known space, but these wormholes are only open at irregular intervals, and they don't provide access to all star systems. We have been able to learn to predict these openings, and use them to transport our fleets to key sectors during the war with the Chigs."

"That would seem to place your forces at a huge disadvantage," Admiral Adama said.

"Indeed it would," Sewell replied, nodding, "were it not for the fact that the Chigs apparently use a similar method of mounting incursions into sectors of space held by Earth forces. So both sides are equally disadvantaged in that regard."

General Wewick looked over at Admiral Adama. "Are you saying that your own forces are not similarly disadvantaged, Admiral?," he asked.

Adama smiled. "I assume that is what Mr. Sewell is about to tell you," he said.

Sewell smiled, nodding. "Indeed it is, Admiral." Looking at Wewick, he said, "General, the Colonials have the ability to do what is called a FTL Jump. Basically, each of their larger vessels, and even some of the smaller ones, is equipped with an engine which allows them to create its own artificial wormhole. They can set the coordinates of this wormhole to wheresoever they please, as long as it's within the device's range, which is, as I understand it, approximately twelve light years. The vessel arrives at its destination almost instantaneously."

"Twelve light years!," General Wewick exclaimed.

"Mr. Sewell," Commodore Ross said, "are there any disadvantages to this system?"

Sewell looked less happy now. "Unfortunately, yes. The jumps require a series of complex calculations to be performed to ensure that the vessel jumps into a safe area…otherwise it might emerge inside a star or planet, or emerge light years off course. Even with these calculations, the farther away one jumps, the more likely one is to arrive off-course. To lessen this problem, the Colonials customarily jump in increments of five light years or less. The drives require a minimum of twenty minutes to bring on-line when they have been inactive, and a similar 'cooling down' period after each jump, and repetitive use over an extended period of time can cause severe damage to them. The drives put a serious strain on a vessel's structure, and hull cracks will develop over time unless constant maintenance is performed to prevent it. But the worst problem of all is that the drives require a special fuel which the Colonials call Tylium. It is in limited supply among the fleet, and is found only on a very few planets in the galaxy. At this point, it is known to be found in only one location near Earth space. That is the moon, Kazbek."

Ross's eyes widened. "You mean that strange ore which the 58th Squadron brought back from Kazbek is this Tylium?"

Sewell smiled wanly. "Yes, Commodore. I thought 'Sewell Fuel' might be a catchy name for it, but it appears to already have a name." He cleared his throat, embarrassed a bit by the admission of his own hubris, before continuing. "The fact that that Chigs are already mining this stuff is disturbing, to say the least. If they are working on an engine which has similar capabilities to the Colonial FTL Drive, that would be very bad news for Earth."

Secretary General Hayden spoke up now. "There's no reason to think that this is the case, is there, Howard?" [1]

"No, Madame Secretary General," Sewell said. "This Tylium could also be used as an advanced fuel for their current engines, or to produce powerful warheads for their missiles. There is no direct evidence that they are working on an advanced FTL drive."

"However, Madame Secretary General," General Wewick said, "it would be foolhardy to assume that such is not the case. The facilities on Kazbek must be neutralized."

"I agree with General Wewick," President Roslin said. "The Twelve Colonies of Kobol perished because we assumed that because the Cylons were out of sight, they were no longer a danger to us. That proved to be a disastrous mistake. Just because you don't have direct evidence for it, don't dismiss the worst-case scenario out of hand. It is all too likely to be true."

"Can these FTL Drives be retrofitted onto our space carriers and other warships?," Commodore Ross asked.

"It will be a while before Aerotech can produce any of these drives for our forces," Sewell answered, shaking his head. "But I see no reason why they could not be retrofitted, once they become available."

"No, you misunderstand me, Mr. Sewell," Ross said. Looking at President Roslin, he said, "Madame President, I know it's a lot to ask, but you did offer whatever assistance you could provide. Could we not remove the existing FTL Drives from your civilian ships and retrofit them onto our war vessels? Kazbek and the Planet Ceres, which it orbits, are heavily defended. But a strike force of sixty vessels which could suddenly appear out of nowhere, hit Kazbek fast and hard, and then disappear again might just be enough to do the job."

Roslin looked up at the ceiling for a moment, deep in thought. Then she sighed. "Yes, Commodore," she said. "We would be willing to allow this. However, this would render the civilian vessels completely vulnerable to Cylon attack, and I could not, in good conscience, agree to this until the civilian population of our Fleet had been evacuated to a safe location."

Secretary General Hayden looked at Sewell. "Howard, how far along are the blood screenings of the Colonial Fleet personnel and passengers?"

"There are nearly fifty thousand of them, as you know," Sewell said. "We've brought in several hospital ships to assist, and are making rapid progress, but it will take a couple of weeks to collect all the samples and test them."

Hayden frowned. "We cannot allow your people to leave their ships until everyone has been screened, President Roslin. I am sure you understand. But it would be helpful if we could have access to the technology now."

Roslin looked at Admiral Adama. "Bill, what do you think?"

"Laura, it's your decision," he said. "But in my opinion, given the assistance they've already given us, we should allow it."

Roslin sighed again, then looked at Hayden. "All right, Secretary General," she said. "In the interest of future relations between our peoples, we will agree to your request."

Hayden smiled. "Thank you, President Roslin." Looking at Sewell, she said, "Howard, how soon do you think the retrofits can begin?"

"If we can get the various ships to a shipyard, either at Earth or Groombridge 34," Sewell replied, "work could begin immediately."

"I'll leave it to you to confer with President Roslin, Admiral Adama, and our own military authorities as to the best manner to accomplish this," Hayden replied. She got up. "And now, if you'll all forgive me, it's been a long journey from Earth, and I'd like to get some rest."

General Wewick rose. "Madame Secretary General, allow me to escort you to your quarters," he said.

"Thank you, General," Hayden replied. Together, they left the room, trailed by Hayden's security officers, who had been standing quietly in one of the corners of the room during the meeting.

After their departure, Commodore Ross looked at Howard Sewell as the mousy little Aerotech man packed up his presentation materials, a frown on his face. He didn't trust Sewell. Had the Aerotech man told them everything he knew about Colonial technology? Or was he saving some secrets for himself, and by extension, for Aerotech? _I wouldn't be surprised_, he thought to himself. _Sewell is a snake, and no mistake about it. But at least he's our snake._ Then his frown deepened as another thought crossed his mind. _Let's hope he is, at any rate. Because if he's not, that could be a major problem. _

[1] Before becoming Secretary General of the U.N., Hayden had formerly held the position within Aerotech now held by Sewell. They have known each other for years and therefore are on a first name basis.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE PROCYON SYSTEM, 8 JANUARY 2064 (DAY 394 OF THE EXODUS)

Captain Kara Thrace, call-sign "Starbuck," was where she was happiest…where she belonged…in the cockpit of her Viper, on deep-space patrol in the star system which the Earthlings called Procyon. She and the other pilots of the Third Fighter Squadron, also known as the "Vigilantes," had flown such missions many times, of course. But today was different.

Thrace turned her head and looked to her right and above her, where one of the odd-looking, tailless fighter aircraft known by the Earthlings as a "Hammerhead" (Thrace had thought that an odd name until told that it was named after a predatory fish which lived in Earth's oceans) kept formation with her Viper. Today was the first time that a Viper Squadron from GALACTICA had been assigned to fly a joint mission with the Earthlings, and so far, Thrace was impressed by what she had seen.

Thrace had flown over to the U.S.S. SARATOGA, a "Space Carrier" (as the Earthlings called their much smaller, but still quite powerful, equivalent to a Colonial Battlestar) which served as the flagship of the Earth Defense Forces Space Fleet in this region of space , the previous day to confer with the Earthling squadron commander about today's mission. There she met Colonel T.C. McQueen, a handsome, middle-aged man who commanded the 58th Squadron, the unit with which the Vigilantes would be flying this mission. McQueen struck her as the ideal officer, hard as nails but fair, and extremely competent.

Although McQueen commanded the 58th, he would not be flying with them on the mission. A wound he had suffered in one of the first battles of the war which the humans of Earth were now fighting against their alien nemesis, the Chigs, had seen to that. Instead, the 58th Squadron would be led while on patrol by Lieutenant Shane Vansen, who would also have overall command of the mission. Vansen, an attractive but diminutive woman with dark, auburn hair and green eyes, was the officer with whom Thrace had first made contact on that fateful day when the Colonial Fleet had arrived in this star system. Captain Thrace had finally met Vansen in person while aboard the SARATOGA yesterday, and they had taken an instant liking to each other. It was Vansen's fighter which Thrace saw when she looked above and behind her.

"Starbuck, this is Queen of Diamonds," Thrace heard Vansen say, her voice coming through her helmet speakers. "Do you read?"

"Queen of Diamonds, this is Starbuck," Thrace replied.

"Anything on your screen, Starbuck?," Vansen asked. One of the reasons for this joint mission was to make use of the DRADIS scanners aboard the Vipers, which had been found to be somewhat superior in range and detectivity to the LIDAR sets in the 58th Squadron's Hammerheads.

"Negative, Queen of Diamonds," Thrace said after a quick check of the screen. "Nothing out here but empty space."

Suddenly, a warning light on her DRADIS began blinking.

"Queen of Diamonds," Thrace said, "A bogey just appeared on my screen, at extreme range."

"Starbuck, can you identify?," Vansen replied.

"Attempting to do so now, Queen of Diamonds," Thrace said, her voice betraying her frustration with the delay while she waited for the IFF system to finish analyzing the target. Then suddenly, an all too familiar warning light appeared on her screen.

"It's a Cylon raider!," Thrace called out. She called out the bearing and approximate distance to the Cylon craft.

"Queen Six," Vansen said into her headset, "This is Queen of Diamonds. We've encountered a Cylon raider. I say again, we've got a Cylon Raider. Request permission to engage."

Aboard the SARATOGA, Colonel McQueen was standing in the operations center of the space carrier, conferring with Admiral Adama and Commodore Ross, when the call came in.

"Stand by, Queen of Diamonds," McQueen said into his own headset, then turned to Admiral Adama.

"Cylon Raider?," he said.

"A small fighter aircraft, with FTL jump capability," Adama said. "It's got to be a scout looking for the fleet. If it jumps away with knowledge of where our fleet is, a task force of Cylon Base Stars could be here within hours."

"Well, now," Ross said, a determined look on his face, "can't have that, can we?" He nodded to McQueen. "Take it out of my sky."

"Engage and destroy, 58th," McQueen quickly said into his headset. "I repeat, engage and destroy."

"Aye, Sir!," Vansen replied. Then, to Thrace, she called, "Starbuck, you're more familiar with this craft. Lead the way."

"Vigilantes!," Starbuck called. "Engage!" Blue plasma belched from the triple tailpipes of the Vipers as they roared off in the direction of the target.

"Okay, Wildcards, let's go!," shouted Vansen as she kicked her Hammerhead into afterburner to follow. Her squadron mates quickly did likewise.

The strangely crescent-shaped silver Cylon fighter soon came into view. Vansen saw its sleek lines and its agile movements, and knew it would be a deadly opponent.

"Vigilantes, break left," she called. "Wildcards, break right. Let's see if we can box him in."

Once more, the tailpipes of the Vipers and Hammerheads flared with blue plasma as they accelerated, trying to get into an advantageous position from which to launch their attack. Vansen expected that the enemy craft, seeing itself greatly outnumbered, would turn tail and run as fast as its engines could carry it. But she was wrong.

To her surprise, instead of running, the sleek, dangerous-looking fighter rushed headlong, straight at her, firing its weapons. Vansen jinxed her Hammerhead up and down, left and right as tracers flashed by her cockpit.

"Break left, Shane!," Vansen heard her second-in-command, Lieutenant Nathan West, call out frantically.

But she knew she was safer continuing the direct approach. _If the bastard wants to play chicken, that's fine by me,_ she thought grimly to herself. Vansen fired back, the Hammerhead's electro-magnetic rail guns spitting death at the approaching Cylon. But her fire was no more effective than the enemy's, and suddenly, the Cylon "blinked." Executing a split-second ninety-degree turn, it dove away out of the trap, the blue plasma of its afterburner flaring brilliantly.

"Holy shit, did you see that?," Cooper Hawkes, call sign Jack-of-Spades, exclaimed.

Vansen could already see the Vipers of the Vigilante Squadron turning to follow the Cylon as it made its bid for freedom. "We can't let the bastard get away," Vansen replied. "Follow the Vigilantes!" As one, the eight Hammerheads of the 58th Squadron dove after the fleeing enemy craft.

The Cylon continued racing away, but Captain Thrace was slowly catching up. She squeezed off a burst of her 30mm Thraxon Kinetic Energy Weapons (KEWs). To her disgust, the burst missed as the Cylon nimbly danced out of the way. Then, it suddenly snapped into a 180-degree turn, and dashed toward her, spraying fire as it came. Thrace jinxed her Viper hard to the right, and heard a thump as one of the kinetic rounds grazed the wing of her Viper.

"Felgercarp!," she hissed as she quickly looked at her panel. _No warning lights,_ she thought to herself, breathing a sigh of relief. _That frakker's good._

As if to emphasize just how good the Cylon was, Thrace heard a shout of "I'm hit bad!" from Lieutenant Brendan Costanza, whose Viper had been to the left of her own as they pursued the raider.

"Hot Dog! Break left," Thrace shouted. She jerked the control stick of her Viper violently as he attempted to get onto the Cylon's tail.

But then, there was a brilliant white light as another burst from the Raider smashed into Costanza's Viper. Thrace watched as her friend and squadron-mate was converted into micro-particles by the explosion. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she knew there was nothing she could have done to save him.

"Okay, motherfrakker!," Thrace shouted, fury in her voice and on her face. "Time to die!" Once again, she put her Viper into turbo-boost, blue plasma streaking behind it, as she sought to get close to her foe.

But by now, the Cylon was mixing it up with the Vipers and Hammerheads in a vicious, swirling, close-range dogfight, making quick strafing runs at the opposing aircraft, then darting away in violent twists and turns to escape. _He's a smart one,_ Thrace thought as she, along with the other members of the Vigilantes and the Wildcards, engaged in a dance of death with the enemy fighter. _He knows that if he stays in among us, we risk hitting each other if we fire._

Meanwhile, Shane Vansen was having similar thoughts as she jinxed her Hammerhead to avoid the lashing tracer rounds fired by the Cylon. Another brilliant flash marked the funeral pyre of another human pilot, this time Lieutenant Charlie Stone of the 58th Squadron.

"We've got to get that son-of-a-bitch," she muttered to herself grimly. Quite aside from the need to avenge the deaths of their comrades, she knew…based on what Captain Thrace had told her about the FTL drives in Cylon craft…that as soon as the Cylon's FTL engine had time to cool down, it would jump away. The clock was ticking, and Vansen knew it.

Vansen pressed the button to arm one of her Aerotech Spartan space-to-space missiles. Using one of the missiles while in the middle of a close-in dogfight, as she was doing now, was not recommended. There was too much of a chance of the missile losing target lock and re-locking onto a friendly spacecraft. She'd seen it happen a couple of times, once with fatal results for the unfortunate pilot whose craft was unlucky enough to be targeted by the rogue missile. But she decided it was probably safer than lashing out with rail gun rounds when her comrades were nearby and all too likely to get in the way. Either way, it was a risk she had to take.

Kicking on the afterburner, she followed the Cylon as it executed another seemingly impossible turn. Suddenly, the target indicator on her panel lit up, indicating missile lock-on.

"Fuck you!," she shouted as she pressed the firing button. The missile dropped from the hard point underneath the wing of her Hammerhead and streaked forward, following the Cylon as it began to go into another dizzying turn. Vansen savagely grinned as the missile flew right up the Cylon's tailpipe. There was a brief, brilliant flash as the Cylon was vaporized by the exploding warhead.

"OOOHRAAAAH!," Vansen shouted, cranking her Hammerhead into a celebratory barrel-roll of triumph.

"All right, Shane!," shouted Lieutenant Paul Wang. "Way to dust his ass!"

"Great shooting, Queen of Diamonds!," Thrace said excitedly. "I wish I'd got the motherfrakker, but he's dead, and that's all that matters."

Vansen smiled, but the smile quickly faded. "Yes," she said in reply. "That's all that matters." _Two good men gone, in exchange for one machine,_ Vansen thought to herself. _That's not a good trade. _

"Queen Six, this is Queen of Diamonds," she said into her headset. "The Cylon has been destroyed. I repeat, the Cylon has been destroyed. However, we've taken casualties. Stone is dead, and a member of the Vigilantes as well."

"Roger, Queen of Diamonds," she heard the voice of her commander, Colonel McQueen, responding. "Return to base."

Aboard the SARATOGA, McQueen looked over at Admiral Adama.

"Sir, will the destruction of this scout keep the Cylons from figuring out where we are?," he asked.

"Maybe," Adama said, looking grim. "We can keep our fingers crossed and hope there's no Resurrection Ship in range, and the Cylon was killed permanently. But if there's a Resurrection ship in range, the Cylon's memories will be downloaded into a new Raider. As soon as the Cylons can access the information in its memory, they will know we're here. If that happens, we've gained a little time, nothing more." He shook his head sadly, looking down at the floor.

"Yes, Sir," McQueen said.

Commodore Ross ordered the Earth Fleet to battle stations, and all the remaining Hammerhead and Viper squadrons were scrambled in anticipation of the arrival of the Cylons. But the hours passed, and no Cylons appeared. Finally, the "all-clear" went out, and the various squadrons returned to their carriers and battlestars.

After briefly returning to the GALACTICA, Captain Thrace had flown her Viper back over to the SARATOGA, where, with Lieutenant Vansen, she was to brief Colonel McQueen, with Commodore Ross and Admiral Adama, about the mission. The briefing had been an intense one, as she had expected, given the casualties they had suffered. After the briefing, she had gone with Vansen to the SARATOGA's mess hall, where she sat with Vansen and the other members of the 58th Squadron over a meal of fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

Thrace raised her mug…full of an Earth beverage called "Coca Cola," which she found she really enjoyed…and said, "To the dead. And to those of us who will follow them."

The Earthlings raised their own mugs, and solemnly repeated, "To the dead."

They all drained their mugs, then Vansen waved down a waiter to get them refills. She looked at Thrace.

"Was Hot Dog a friend of yours?," she asked.

"Yes," Thrace said. "I trained him. I owe him my life more than once." She took a drink from her refilled mug, then looked back at Vansen. "How about Stone?"

Vansen shook her head. "No," she said. "He never really fit in with the rest of the squadron." She looked over at Cooper Hawkes, who was listening with a sour look on his face. Stone had been an anti-in-vitro bigot, constantly referring to Hawkes by the derogatory term, "Tank," and on more than one occasion tensions between the two had exploded into fisticuffs. When the rest of the squadron stood up for Hawkes, Stone had withdrawn into himself, rarely speaking to his squadron mates except as required by his duties. Vansen looked back at Thrace. "But he was a good pilot, and a brave Marine."

"It could just as easily have been any of us," Lieutenant Vanessa Damphouse said softly. "We always feel it when one of us dies. Even if he wasn't a buddy." She angrily brushed a tear from her right cheek. Cooper Hawkes grudgingly nodded his agreement.

Looking at Thrace, Nathan West said, "So, it looks like the Cylons aren't coming, after all."

"Looks that way," Thrace said, smiling wanly.

"Then I guess it was worth it," Paul Wang said.

"Two men are dead. It's never worth it," said a familiar voice from the direction of the mess hall doors. They all looked up to see Colonel McQueen approaching their table. "But at least they died for a reason," McQueen continued. "That's more than most can say."

Wang nodded in return. "Yes, Sir," he said.

Thrace looked at McQueen. _There is a man who's seen too much death,_ she thought to herself. She shook her head, trying to fight back the sudden urge to laugh. _Who am I to judge him? I've been up to my neck in death since the fall of the Colonies. It's become a companion…a lover…whose embrace I coyly resist, but secretly long for. _

Suddenly she was aware of Vansen's eyes upon her. _She understands, doesn't she,_ Thrace thought to herself. _Yes, she understands. How sad for her. _


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE PROCYON SYSTEM, 9 JANUARY 2064 (DAY 395 OF THE EXODUS)

In a conference room aboard the U.S.S. SARATOGA, Commodore Glen Ross sat discussing the previous day's events with Secretary General Diane Hayden of the United Nations, General Wewick, Commander-in-Chief of Earth Defense Force, President Laura Roslin of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, and Admiral William Adama of the Colonial Fleet. Given the gravity of the events of the previous day's events, the discussion was tense.

The arrival of a Cylon Raider in the Procyon system was a clear indication of how closely-pursued the Colonial Fleet was by their Cylon nemesis, and of the extreme danger in which Earth now found itself. The question now was, what to do about it? And about that, there was much disagreement.

"Madame Secretary General," President Laura Roslin was saying, "if they Cylons have arrived here, even briefly, they will be back. We've got to get the Colonial Fleet out of here and to a safer location."

Hayden sighed. "Are you sure they will return?," she asked. "My understanding is that the fact they didn't show up yesterday was a good sign that the raider had not been resurrected."

"Yes," Admiral Adama said. "It was a good sign, one we can be heartily thankful for. We can also be thankful that this region of space is so far away from our home territory that neither we nor the Cylons have a system of communications relays here, and that the Cylons won't have had time to create such a system, otherwise the raider would have been able to transmit the location of the fleet before it was destroyed."

"Nevertheless," Roslin interrupted, "the fact that the raider has gone missing will likely lead the Cylons to send others to investigate and find out what happened to it. That might not happen immediately, but it will happen. The Colonial Fleet needs NOT to be in this star system when that happens."

Commodore Ross nodded. "I agree with President Roslin. The safety of the Colonial Fleet must be maintained, not only for humanitarian reasons, but because we need the FTL jump engines in the civilian ships to retrofit onto our warships. Madame Secretary General, the safety of not only the Colonial population, but of Earth itself, may depend on the safety of the Colonial civilian fleet."

Secretary General Hayden shook her head. "The blood screenings necessary to weed out the Cylon infiltrators in the fleet are not yet complete. For that reason, the Sol System is off-limits."

"Madame Secretary General," Wewick said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "We were planning to begin taking the civilian ships to the shipyards in Jupiter orbit or at Groombridge 34 for removal of the FTL jump engines. That was scheduled to begin shortly. We could take them there now."

"Hmmm," Hayden said, thoughtful in turn. "Is there a suitable facility at Groombridge 34 which could handle up to fifty thousand refugees?"

"There is, Madame Secretary," General Wewick said. "The third planet in the system is relatively earth-like, with an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere suitable for human life and a fairly temperate climate. A Chig advanced force had occupied the planet as a precursor to an assault on our shipyards in the system, but that threat has been neutralized. Nearly half of the Colonial population…all the military personnel and a third of the civilians…have been screened already. Assuming that the military personnel will remain with their vessels as part of our fleet, those civilians who have already been screened could go directly to Earth. That portion of the Colonial civilian population which has still not been screened could be interned at Groombridge 34-3 temporarily, and then transported to Earth once the screenings were complete."

Hayden turned to Roslin. "Would that be an acceptable compromise, President Roslin?"

Roslin was silent for a moment as she thought the matter over. She looked at Admiral Adama.

"What do you think?," she asked.

"Laura," Adama said, "I think it's the best that can be done now. I know you'd prefer not to have the civilians split up, and placing their fates entirely in the hands of the Earthlings goes against the survival instincts we've all developed since the fall of the Twelve Colonies, but I don't see a way around it."

Roslin bit her lip as she thought about Adama's response. "Unfortunately, I find myself forced to agree, Bill." She turned back to Hayden.

"All right," she said. "Although as Bill said, it goes against my own instincts, I'll agree to this compromise, if you can guarantee the safety of our people."

"President Roslin," Hayden said, "I won't lie to you. I can, unfortunately, guarantee nothing. But I can tell you that your people will be just about as safe on Groombridge 34-3 as they would be on Earth. It is the most important facility we have outside of the Sol System, and is heavily defended. They will be far safer there than they are here in the Procyon system. One of our battle fleets is assigned to defend the system at all times, and it is frequently a gathering point for expeditions into Chig space, so much of the time there is much more than one battle fleet present in the system."

Roslin sighed. "I suppose I can't expect absolute guarantees," she said finally.

"I deeply admire your commitment to the safety of your people, President Roslin," Hayden said, smiling. "Believe me when I tell you that it is a commitment that I well understand, because I feel it for my own people as well. And since our two peoples are destined, it seems, to become one again after these untold thousands of years of separation, then let me assure you that I am also committed to their safety. We are after all, it seems, all that is left of humanity in the universe. We have to stand together."

Roslin smiled. "Thank you, Madame Secretary General. I deeply appreciate that."

Hayden smiled again. "All right, then. If we are all in agreement, Commodore Ross and Admiral Adama, how much difficulty will there be in separating those who have been screened from those who have not?"

"Very little, I should think," Ross said. "We've been screening one vessel at the time, rather than sending teams to all vessels simultaneously. Those vessels which have been cleared can be escorted to Earth immediately. Those which have not will go to Groombridge 34."

Admiral Adama nodded in agreement. "Yes, your teams have been very professional and well-organized. I doubt we could have done as efficient a job of such an immense task."

"Well then," Hayden said, standing up. "Let's do it," she said forcefully.

Ross, Adama, and Wewick all stood. "Yes, Ma'am!", they chorused.

President Roslin rose from her own seat. "I will go with the civilians who have not been screened. It is important that they not feel that they are being abandoned by their government at this time."

Secretary General Hayden smiled. "Yes, I think that's a good decision. If our roles were reversed, I would do the same." Looking over at General Wewick, she said, "Edward, can you escort me back to my quarters?"

"Most certainly, Madame Secretary General," the General said formally. Taking her arm, he led her out of the room.

Commodore Ross watched them go, then turned to Admiral Adama.

"There will be a wormhole opening between Earth and the Procyon system in two days," he said. "I know your ships don't require one, but ours do, and as the Secretary General said, your vessels will require an escort into the Sol System."

"I understand," Adama said. "What about between the Procyon system and the Groombridge 34 system?"

Ross frowned. "That will be a bit more difficult. There is no direct wormhole route between the two systems. We can get there, but it will require using three different wormholes opening at different times, so the entire trip will take about a week."

"Well," Adama said thoughtfully, "that might actually be advantageous. If the fleet is moving around for a week before it reaches its final destination, that might reduce the likelihood of the Cylons catching on to what we're doing."

"True," Ross said, nodding. "And we can use any advantage we can get."

President Roslin, who was listening to the exchange, said "Commodore, you strike me as an honest man. Do you agree with Secretary General Hayden's assessment of the safety of the planet in the Groombridge 34 system?"

Ross nodded. "Yes, I do, Madame President."

Roslin sighed. She just couldn't get the bad feeling she had about this whole affair out of her system. She was literally placing the fate of her people in the hands of strangers. Yes, they were human beings, but she well knew that if human history demonstrated anything, it was that human beings looked after their own interests first, and those of others…especially those seen as burdens on society, as her own people might well be seen by those of Earth…came in a distant second. If push came to shove, would the Earthlings defend her people? She looked Ross in the eye.

"_I hope you're right," _she said. _"By all the gods, and for all our sakes, I hope you're right." _


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

THE COLONY, SOMEWHERE IN DEEP SPACE BEYOND THE CIMTAR ARMISTICE LINE, 9 JANUARY 2064 (DAY 395 OF THE EXODUS)

John Cavil stood at a viewing port aboard The Colony, a huge, star-shaped space station which served as the "home world" of the Cylons and the central headquarters of their military forces, looking out at the stunning vista presented by the naked singularity [1] around which The Colony orbited. Cavil appeared as a middle-aged white human male with dark hair and cunning green eyes. In some of his incarnations, John Cavil posed as an apostate priest, mocking the religious beliefs of his brothers and sisters, something he found highly amusing and quite entertaining. Unlike the vast majority of Cylons, John Cavil was not a religious man. He thought all the talk of God and his Plan to be just so much superstition, but useful in that he could use it to bend the other Cylons to his will. But today, he dressed in normal Colonial civilian attire.

Despite his disbelief in the God in whom the other Cylons believed, as he looked upon the raw beauty and power of the singularity and the swirling dust clouds which danced along the edges of its influence, he couldn't help but be awed by it. And as often happened, it put him in a metaphysical frame of mind. _If God does exist, _he mused silently to himself, _surely he exists here._

As he stood, lost in his own thoughts, he heard footsteps approaching down the corridor toward him. He turned to look and saw Number Two, a blonde-haired male who went by the human name of Loeben Conoy, and Number Four, a middle-aged, tall, somewhat thin but handsome black male who often posed as a doctor when assigned to infiltration missions among the humans, where he called himself Simon.

"I knew I'd find you here," Simon said, smiling. "Every time you disappear, I find you staring at that," he said, pointing to the singularity. "You seem obsessed with it."

"No, not obsessed," John said. "I just find that looking at it helps me to focus my thoughts."

"The others are waiting," said Loeben.

John sighed. "Yes, I know. Let's go."

Together the three of them left the viewing port and walked up the long corridor to toward the center of the station, where the clean, sterile room where the Cylon Ruling Council usually met was located. With a soft _whish_ing noise, the door to the meeting room opened, and the three Cylons stepped inside.

"There you are," Number Three, an attractive blonde female who appeared to be in her late 30s as measured by human standards, said as Cavil entered. "You're late."

"Yes, D'Anna," Simon said. "He was mesmerized by the singularity again." He laughed softly as John gave him a dirty look.

"Well, at least you're here now," said Number Eight, who appeared as a very pretty young woman of Oriental heritage, her long, dark hair, slightly yellowish skin and almond shaped eyes making her seem, to humans, both exotic and sexually appealing. "We have much to discuss."

"Indeed," said Number Six, a tall, slender but well built, and highly attractive blonde female who appeared to be in her late 20s, again as measured by human standards. "Sharon is right. There are important issues to discuss. Must you always be late?"

John grinned. "Guilty as charged, Shelly. But as Sharon said, I'm here now. Let's get to work." He turned to Number 5, who stood next to Number Six and appeared to be a rather plain-looking white male with dark hair and eyes. "Aaron, you said we've received a message from one of my counterparts."

"Yes, John," Aaron replied. "A message from your counterpart who was in command of a Base Star searching Sector 41107. The message says he found a source of Tylium in a star system there, but it was heavily defended by an unknown alien race which surprised and destroyed his Base Star."

John frowned. "We need that tylium. That's the only supply we've found in that Sector, or any of the adjoining sectors. We're at the end of our supply lines. We can't keep looking for the humans without a new source of supply in the region."

Aaron nodded. "Yes. And there's more. It seems that your counterpart was captured by these aliens and tortured to death. He didn't reveal anything of use to the aliens, but he did learn something very interesting from his interrogator, which he brought back with him when he was resurrected."

"Oh?," John asked. "And what was that?"

"Well, it seems that the aliens who captured him are a completely unique form of life, similar in form to the insects which inhabit many worlds," Aaron said. "But the interrogator himself was an artificial life form who had been constructed to look human."

"To look human?," Number Six asked. "Was it a Cylon, like us?"

"No," Aaron said, shaking his head. "It was a crude, electronic and mechanical being. It called itself a 'Silicate,' and referred to its creators as 'Carbonates.' It clearly inferred, but did not directly say, that its creators resembled itself in appearance, but were carbon-based biological life forms."

"Humans," said Sharon.

"And the only humans known to be left alive are the survivors aboard the Colonial Fleet," D'Anna said. "But clearly, they did not create these 'Silicates.'"

"The Lost Thirteenth Tribe," John said, shaking his head. He hadn't believed in their existence, himself, and thought the Colonial refugees were chasing shadows in trying to find them. But clearly, this was evidence to the contrary.

"Yes," Simon said, "I'm forced to agree. It's the only reasonable explanation."

"Well, it appears we have more than one reason to revisit that system," John said.

"And there is yet another," Loeben said. "A raider out on a deep exploratory mission in a nearby system in the same sector has failed to report back. Of course, we have no communications relays in that sector, and it may simply be that. Or it could be something else as well. We should investigate."

D'Anna nodded her agreement. "Yes, if the Thirteenth Tribe is somewhere in that sector, it could well be that the raider encountered them. Or it may have encountered more of these insectoid creatures. We need to know which it was."

"Yes," John said, "But first things first. We need that Tylium, and if we can capture some of the 'Silicates" my counterpart encountered, so much the better. Simon, how long to gather up a strike force of ten Base Stars?"

"A few days," Simon replied, looking thoughtful. "Our forces are widely scattered right now, looking for the Colonial Fleet."

"Have the task force gather here in one week," John said. "I wish to accompany it personally. Make sure that my counterpart who was tortured is sent here as well."

"God be with us," Sharon said.

"_Yes," _John said, trying hard to hide a sarcastic smirk._ "God be with us all."_


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

ABOARD BATTLESTAR GALACTICA, DAY 396 OF THE EXODUS (10 JANUARY 2064)

In a conference room aboard the Colonial Battlestar, GALACTICA, Admiral William Adama sat with President Laura Roslin, as well as the Earthlings, Commodore Glenn Ross and Howard Sewell of the Aerotech Corporation, who would be overseeing the removal of the FTL Jump Engines from the civilian craft of the Colonial Fleet and their installation in the warships of the Earthlings. Commodore Ross was speaking.

"Admiral Adama," he said, "you have a most impressive vessel here. And you say that this is, or was supposed to be, a museum?"

Adama smiled. "Yes," he said. "On the very day of the Cylon attack on the Colonies, GALACTICA was being decommissioned and turned into a museum exhibit." He took off his glasses, retrieved a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and began to clean them. "Colonial Fleet Command thought they were putting her out to pasture, and me along with her." He put the glasses back on. "Just goes to show, the brass hats at headquarters don't always know what they're doing."

Commodore Ross laughed. "Well, I'm sure we've all had similar thoughts, at one time or another, about our own commands."

President Roslin smiled. "Yes, Bill and I have had our share of disagreements as well, since the Fall of the Colonies," she said. "But somehow or another, we've managed to muddle along, despite them."

Adama smiled at her knowingly, but said nothing. In fact, he knew, as did she, that he had once tried to remove Roslin from the Presidency, by force. He thanked all the gods that he had failed, and that everyone had come to their senses before any major violence had broken out in the fleet.

"Well, be that as it may," Ross said, "it is a mighty impressive vessel. And you say the PEGASUS is even more impressive?"

"Yes," Adama said. "PEGASUS is the last survivor of the MERCURY-class of Battlestar, the most modern and powerful type deployed by the Twelve Colonies before their destruction. She is, in every way, superior to the GALACTICA." He fell silent for a moment, looking up and around at the walls and ceiling of the room. "But GALACTICA is a tough old bird, and I wouldn't trade her for any other ship in the universe."

"I feel the same way about the SARATOGA," Ross said, nodding. "There's a love that a Captain feels for his ship. Don't you agree, Admiral?"

"Indeed, Commodore," Adama said. "Indeed."

Just then, the voice of one of the guards stationed outside came out of the intercom near the door. "Admiral Adama, they're here."

"Send them in," Adama said.

The door opened, and one of the guards stepped in, followed by Colonel Saul Tigh, Ellen Tigh, Galen Tyrol, Samuel Anders, and Tory Foster…the four new Cylons discovered by the blood screenings, the ones who, apparently, came from a second Earth which had been inhabited by a civilization of humanoid Cylons before said civilization destroyed itself in nuclear fire. The five Cylons took empty seats facing the four humans. There was an uneasy silence, which was finally broken by President Roslin.

"Colonel Tigh," she said, looking at the balding, middle-aged man who was dressed, once again for the first time in several days, in a Colonial military uniform. Then looking at the others, once by one, "Mrs. Tigh, Chief Tyrol, Mr. Anders, Tory." She cleared her throat. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with us today."

Tory Foster looked at her former employer and friend with great sadness. "Laura…," she began, but then began to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Roslin, moved by the display of emotion, said, "It's okay, Tory," she said softly. "You had no idea of what you were, that you were a Cylon. And it is clear that you were never part of the Cylon conspiracy to exterminate the human race. I'm sorry you were treated so roughly. It was necessary. But even so, allow me to express my apologies, and those of the rest of the Colonial government, for what happened."

"Necessary?," Chief Tyrol said. "Perhaps it was. I just wish you'd used the damned drug sooner." The other Cylons all nodded in agreement.

"We had no idea it would be effective on you," Admiral Adama said. "But as Laura stated, you have our deepest apologies."

"And those of the government of United Earth," Commodore Ross added.

"Thank you," Colonel Tigh said. "I think I speak for all of us in saying we don't blame you, or President Roslin, as much as we blame our own…what shall we call them…offspring?"

"And we want to help you," Ellen Tigh said. "We never intended to create a race of genocidal monsters, President Roslin. John…the first we created…was defective. If we had figured that out in time, all this might have been avoided."

Tory brushed away her tears, and hissed, "Yes. John. He is the one who did this, to you and to us. We must destroy him, and if necessary, the rest of them whom he has contaminated with his hatred."

"That is good to hear," President Roslin said. "What can you offer that will assist us?'

"Our memories have now fully returned," Samuel Anders said. "We can assist you in upgrading the FTL drives on your ships to the efficiency of those used in Cylon vessels."[1]

"How much more efficient are Cylon FTL drives than those currently in use in the Colonial Fleet?," Howard Sewell asked.

"Much more," Anders said. "For one thing, and this is something you will find interesting, Mr. Sewell, is that the Cylons are capable of producing an FTL drive which is small enough to fit aboard the Cylon Raider, their equivalent to your Hammerhead fighter craft. The drives are, overall, at least three times as efficient as Colonial drives. And in some exceptional cases, they've been known to cover, in a single jump, a distance that would have taken some two hundred jumps by a ship equipped with a Colonial FTL drive."

"Will this increase in efficiency only be available on the new engines which Aerotech will produce, or can the existing Colonial Engines be brought up to such efficiencies," Sewell asked.

"In truth," Chief Tyrol said, "we're not sure. We know we can dramatically improve the efficiency of the existing engines, but their design differs greatly from that of the Cylon engines and there is only so far we can go with that."

"Well," Admiral Adama said, "any improvement would be welcomed."

"What else can you offer?," Sewell said.

"We can work with your computer programmers to develop effective firewalls to keep out Cylon attempts to hack into your systems," Ellen Tigh replied. "We might even give you an effective program to turn the tables on them…and on your Chig enemies as well," she said, looking now at Commodore Ross.

Admiral Adama smiled grimly. "Now THAT would be useful," he said. "Being able to do to them what they did to the Colonial Fleet would make me very happy."

Colonel Tigh nodded. "You and me, both, Bill."

Tory looked at Roslin. "There's only one condition we'd ask in exchange for this assistance," she said. "We want our lives back, the only lives we've known since John…tampered…with us. We want to resume our places among your people. As far as we are concerned, we're Colonial citizens, just like any of you. Whatever we may once have been, that is what we are now. Give us those lives back." The others quickly nodded their agreement.

Roslin looked at Adama, and he at her. Then Roslin looked at Tory. "I'd like to believe you, Tory, but I'm sure you can understand our need to be sure that everything is as it appears to be. I will offer you a compromise proposal. Work with Mr. Sewell as he develops the new FTL engine for the Earthlings, and performs the upgrade of the existing engines in our fleet and their transfer to the Earthling warships. Do that, and work well, demonstrate your loyalty that way, and I'll see to it that your request is granted."

"How can I be sure of your sincerity?," Tory asked, a suspicious look on her face.

"Have I ever lied to you, Tory?," Roslin said, looking deep into her former aide's eyes.

"No, Laura," Tory said finally. "No, you haven't." She looked at the others. "I think we can trust her," she said. The others hesitated, but then, all nodded in agreement. Tory looked back at Roslin.

"You have an agreement," she said, extending her hand. Roslin took it without hesitation.

"We'll have to get Secretary General Hayden's agreement to this," Commodore Ross said.

"But I don't think that will be an issue," Howard Sewell said.

Commodore Ross gave him a quick, suspicious look. No, he didn't like or trust the Aerotech man…no, not at all. And the fact that he apparently had so much influence over the Secretary General bothered him.

"As you say, Mr. Sewell," Ross said. "As you say."

[1] In the series, the Final Five were not able to do this after their discovery of their true status as Cylons. But their memories, as far as could be told, probably didn't completely return, either…they seemed to be suffering the "Swiss Cheese" effect. In the story, the drug gave them a COMPLETE recovery of memory, and as a result their scientific skills have returned to them as well.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Excerpt from _The Ties That Bind: A History of the Reunification of Mankind_, by Laura Roslin and Harold Riley. New York: Charles Scribner and Sons, 2069.

The evacuation of the Colonial Fleet to Earth and to Groombridge 34-3, which had been decided upon at the meeting of January 9, 2064, was carried out over the following week. That portion of the Colonial population which had undergone blood screenings to detect Cylon infiltrators was disembarked at Earth. President Roslin of the Twelve Colonies had requested that the Kobolians, as they came to be called on Earth, be kept together as a community, and the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees assisted them in finding a suitable location for a settlement. The government of Canada, which had much sparsely settled territory in its western provinces which could benefit from the foundation of another town of fifty thousand inhabitants, donated land in northern Saskatchewan for the foundation of such a settlement.

Naturally, without financial resources, the new Kobolian settlement could not have been established, let alone thrived. Fortunately for the Kobolians, a far-sighted bank manager and a President with hard-nosed negotiating skills provided the necessary resources.

First, during the evacuation of the Twelve Colonies, twenty sacks of gold cubits [1], each containing some 500 coins, had been removed from the Colonial Central Bank on Caprica and brought aboard one of the escaping transports. The Bank official responsible for this had reported this to President Roslin, who then took possession of the gold as the property of the Colonial Government. The coins each weighed approximately 0.5 Troy Oz. each, and their combined bullion value, at the then current price of gold on Earth, was over $10,000,000.00. In the end, they ended up being worth a great deal more than that, as most of the coins were auctioned off to wealthy collectors who snapped up these totally unique specimens with great gusto (Aside from their unique design, the gold of the coins was alloyed with a metal which was abundant on Caprica but does not occur on Earth, making them impossible to counterfeit). When all was said and done, the Kobolian treasury was able to reap over $100,000,000.00 from the final sale of these coins.

Second, President Roslin was able to negotiate a financial settlement with the United Nations for the use of Colonial technology. Since the United Nations had provided the Kobolians with a new home, Secretary General Hayden had opposed such a settlement [2]. But in the end, Roslin was able to persuade the members of the Security Council of the justice of her demands, and Hayden was overruled. The United Nations agreed to pay ten billion dollars to the Colonial Government to license the Colonial technology, particularly the FTL Jump Engines which were to be produced by Aerotech.

By these means, the necessary capital to establish the settlement of New Caprica was acquired, and construction on the town begun. It would eventually become home to over 40,000 Kobolians, and home to a major space-tech firm, Kobol Industries, which would one day rival Aerotech for dominance of that industry.

Meanwhile, those of the Kobolians who had not yet received their blood screenings were temporarily settled on Groombridge 34-3. Conditions on that planet, while not inimical to human life, were nevertheless somewhat harsh. The planet was both colder and drier than Earth, and most of the Kobolians found the climate uncomfortable. Initially, most of the Kobolians were forced to live in tents, as no other shelter was available. But the local Earth Forces Commander made sure the Kobolians had all the food and water they needed, and that proper sanitary facilities were set up, and for the most part, the health of the refugees was not impaired by the experience. And many, particularly those who hailed from the planet Sagittaron, found the planet quite appealing. Indeed, when the time came to evacuate the Kobolians from that planet to Earth, about five thousand of them, led by Tom Zarek, requested permission to remain and found a permanent colony on the planet. This permission was granted by the United Nations, and thus the colony of New Sagittaron was born.

After the evacuation of the Kobolians to either Earth or Groombridge 34-3 was completed, the vessels of the Colonial Fleet, except the GALACTICA and the PEGASUS, were taken to shipyards in the vicinity to be dismantled. First priority was the removal of the Tylium fuel reserves and the FTL Jump Drives from the Colonial vessels, in preparation for their installation on war vessels of the Earth Defense Force. This process would be completed relatively quickly, but the process of retrofitting the engines onto the Earth vessels would take considerably longer. In the end, some twenty Kennedy-Class Space Carriers, along with a mixed force of Veach-class Space Battleships and Perry-Class Space Cruisers, would be fitted with the salvaged Colonial FTL Jump Drives. These vessels, along with GALACTICA and PEGASUS, would form the strike force which fought the Battles of Kappa Reticuli and Iotia Horologii on May 23, 2064. Little did they know what they would find when they got there.

[1] Cubits: The currency of the Twelve Colonies, consisting of paper currency and coins made of gold and silver.

[2] Although the author is too polite to say it, a large part of Hayden's opposition stemmed from her desire that Aerotech reap the maximum profit from the exploitation of Colonial technology.

Excerpts from _Jane's Space Vessels of the Chig and Cylon Wars_, Hugh Chattingham, Editor. London: Jane's Information Group, 2071.

GALACTICA CLASS BATTLESTAR  
>CREW: 5000<br>LENGTH: 4720 feet long  
>ARMAMENT: 24 large anti-ship gun turrets mounting 2 guns each; 514 point defense gun turrets; 12 missile launch tubes in main hull capable of firing conventional and nuclear missiles.<br>Air Wing: At least 4 squadrons (20 at full strength) of Vipers and at least two squadrons of Raptors.

JOHN F. KENNEDY CLASS SPACE CARRIER  
>CREW: 2917 (On the USS Saratoga, 1008 US Navy, 1344 USMC, and 565 Army personnel).<br>LENGTH: 1724 feet long  
>MAIN ARMAMENT: 1 Kinetic Particle Weapon [1]; 13 Laser Pulse Cannon batteries ranging in strength from 2 GW to 50 MW; 30 Phalanx Missile launchers [2] (can carry either conventional or nuclear warheads); 72 KEWTorpedo Launchers [3]. Also point-defense installations consisting of Spartan Space-to-Space Missile launchers.

AIR WING: 168 Hammerhead Fighters; 14 Stingray Recon Planes; 4 Barracuda Fighter Bombers; 4 SWAC Spaceborne Warning and Control Vehicles; 16 ISSAPC Personnel Carriers; 8 LC-19 Landing Craft.

[1] The Kinetic Particle Weapon, or KPW, is the primary anti-ship weapon carried by Earth vessels. It is a very large particle cannon mounted on the upper hull and running the entire length of the ship. It fires a powerful beam of highly-charged particles.

[3] Phalanx missiles are long-range guided bombardment missiles capable of carrying nuclear or conventional warheads (think of a something like a cross between the Harpoon and the Tomahawk).

[3] The KEW/Torpedo Launcher is a gun-like weapon capable of firing regular cannon rounds or unguided rocket-propelled torpedoes. The cannon rounds and torpedoes pack a conventional high explosive charge, and are used primarily for point-defense against incoming missiles and fighter-bomber spacecraft.

MERCURY CLASS BATTLESTAR (PEGASUS)  
>CREW: Approximately 2500 (smaller crew made possible by greater computer automation than on the GALACTICA class)<br>LENGTH: 5872 feet long  
>ARMAMENT: Classified. Has at least 34 anti-ship Kinetic Energy Weapon batteries (30 twin turrets and 4 twin fixed installations) plus an unknown number of point defense kinetic energy weapon batteries. Also has an unknown number of launch tubes for nuclear and conventional missiles.<br>AIR WING: 50 Raptors and 200 Vipers. Vessel has a production facility to build new Vipers from basic resources.

The Mercury Class is more heavily armored than the Galactica class and the guns are modernized, having a greater rate of fire.

CYLON BASE STAR  
>CREW: Unknown. Probably relatively small as most functions would be automated.<br>SIZE: 3382 feet wide, 870 feet tall.  
>ARMAMENT: No kinetic energy weapons. 220 missile launchers capable of firing conventional or nuclear missiles.<br>AIR WING: As many as 792, mixed force of Raiders and Heavy Raiders.

Cylon Basestars are not very heavily armored and are very vulnerable to the kinetic weapons of Colonial Battlestars. They depend on their large raider wings and missile batteries to keep the battlestars away from them.

CHARLES LACEY VEACH CLASS BATTLESHIP  
>CREW: Approximately 1900<br>LENGTH: 1579 feet long  
>ARMAMENT: Two Kinetic Particle Weapons; 30 Laser Pulse Cannon batteries ranging in strength from 3 GW to 100 MW; 75 Phalanx Missile launchers (in five pods of 15 launchers each); 144 KEWTorpedo Launchers. Also point-defense installations consisting of Spartan Space-to-Space Missile launchers.  
>AIR WING: None.<p>

The Charles Lacey Veach Class Battleship is a heavy weapons platform designed both to protect the John F. Kennedy Class Carriers against spaceborne threats and to provide heavy planetary bombardment capability. It is very heavily armored. Its crew is significantly smaller, as is the vessel itself, because no aircraft hangars and airwings are carried.

OLIVER HAZZARD PERRY CLASS CRUISER  
>CREW: Approximately 1000<br>LENGTH: 1250 feet long  
>ARMAMENT: One Kinetic Particle Weapon; 15 Laser Pulse Cannon batteries ranging in strength from 1 GW to 50 MW; 30 Phalanx Missile launchers (in two pods of 15 launchers each); 84 KEWTorpedo Launchers . Also point-defense installations consisting of Spartan Space-to-Space Missile launchers.  
>AIR WING: None.<p>

The Oliver Hazzard Perry Class protects and supports the larger Veach and Kennedy class vessels. It also is frequently used for escorting civilian merchant convoys and other duties away from the main battle fleets. Its kinetic particle weapon is not in the same class as that carried by the larger ships, but still packs a significant punch.

FORRESTAL CLASS DESTROYER  
>CREW: Approximately 500<br>LENGTH: 988 feet long  
>ARMAMENT: 10 Laser Pulse Cannon batteries ranging in strength from 1 GW to 25 MW; 15 Phalanx Missile launchers (in one pod); 48 KEWTorpedo Launchers in clusters of twelve weapons each. Also point-defense installations consisting of Spartan Space-to-Space Missile launchers.  
>AIR WING: None.<p>

The Forrestal Class is widely used for escort duties, and for long-range recon of enemy-held space. Much faster and more maneuverable than the larger capital ships but much more lightly armed and armored, it is not intended to go toe-to-toe with Chig capital ships, but in numbers can provide potent support to their larger brethren. 


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE GROOMBRIDGE 34 SYSTEM, 21 MAY 2064

Commodore Glen Ross stood on the bridge of the space carrier, U.S.S. SARATOGA, looking out through the viewing port at the array of warships in orbit around the second planet in the Groombridge 34 system, site of the Earth Defense Force's largest base outside of the Sol System. No less than sixty-three vessels, including Earth Defense Forces space carriers, space battleships, and space cruisers, as well as the two Battlestars of the Colonial Fleet, the GALACTICA and the PEGASUS, were gathered here today, as final preparations were carried out for the attack on the Kappa Reticuli System, where the moon Kazbek…and its reserves of Tylium Ore…were located. All of the United Earth Defense Forces vessels here were equipped with Colonial FTL Jump Drives, salvaged from the civilian ships of the Colonial Fleet. At 0800 hours the next morning, the fleet would make the first of several jumps which would carry it from its present location to a point within jump range of the Kappa Reticuli system.

Just then, the communications officer, Lieutenant Haskell, stepped up behind him.

"Begging your pardon, Sir," Haskell said, "but word just came in from the hangar deck. Admiral Adama is here."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Ross said. He looked over at Colonel T.C. McQueen, seated at one of the nearby consoles. McQueen, who not only commanded the 58th Squadron but also served as Ross's Air Wing Commander, overseeing the operations of all the squadrons based on the SARATOGA, would also be needed at the upcoming meeting.

"Colonel, it's time," he said.

"Aye, Sir," McQueen said, taking off his headset. He stood up, and together, he and Ross left the Bridge. They soon arrived at the Briefing Room, where the meeting would be held. As they were taking their seats around the conference table, Admiral Adama and General William Wewick, Commander-in-Chief of the Earth Defense Forces, came in, followed by Admiral Harvey Williams of the United States Navy, Admiral Harold Rathbone of the Royal Navy, Admiral Charles Perigord of the French Navy, Admiral Mikhail Putin of the Russian Navy, and Admiral Li QuanYu of the Chinese Navy, all of whom had contributed vessels to the combined Earth fleet. While the others sat down, Wewick remained standing.

"Gentlemen," General Wewick said as the other officers took their seats, "The great day is upon us. Tomorrow, we leave for Kazbek, and victory!" The other officers applauded.

Wewick picked up a small remote-control device, and pressed a button to dim the lights. At the touch of another button, a retractable screen rolled down, and a beam of light lanced out of the lens of a projector, which was suspended from the ceiling, and onto the screen. Wewick pressed a third button, and a chart showing the dispositions of the attack fleet was displayed.

"Gentlemen," Wewick continued, "Here are the proposed force dispositions for the assault. After much thought, I've decided to divide our fleet into two task forces." He picked up a laser pointer and directed it toward one of two columns on the chart.

"Task Force Alpha will consist of the Battlestar PEGASUS and the space carriers SARATOGA, DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER, JOHN F. KENNEDY, COLIN POWELL, KIEV, MOSKVA, VICTORY [1], WARSPITE, CLEMENCEAU, AND SHI LANG," he said. "It will be escorted by a mixed force of battleships and cruisers. Admiral Williams will command." The other officers nodded their understanding.

Wewick moved his pointer to the second column on the chart. "Task Force Bravo will consist of the Battlestar GALACTICA and the space carriers YORKTOWN, LEXINGTON, GEORGE WASHINGTON, DREADNOUGHT, ARK ROYAL, FOCH, DUNQUERQUE, MINSK, SUVOROV, and ZHUHAI. Like Task Force Alpha it will be escorted by a mixed force of battleships and cruisers. Admiral Putin will command." [2]

Once again, the others nodded to indicate their understanding, several of them scribbling notes on the yellow legal pads they had brought with them.

"General Wewick," Admiral Li asked, "is it a wise choice to divide our forces? The Kappa Reticuli System is known to be heavily defended."

"That is WHY we are dividing our forces," Wewick replied. "Task Force Alpha is going to be the 'bait,' if you will, to draw out the Chig defense forces." He looked at Admiral Williams. "You will jump into the system from Galactic North," he continued. Upon your entry into the system, we expect that the enemy will commit overwhelming force to meet you. When the Chigs have fully engaged, Task Force Bravo will jump into the system from Galactic South and hit the facilities on Kazbek. Ceres, the planet which Kazbek orbits, will be, at that time, orbiting Kappa Reticuli toward Galactic South. Therefore, Admiral Putin's taskforce should have several minutes before the Chigs can redeploy capital ships to interfere with his bombardment. The bombardment will continue until the Chigs do redeploy. Once that occurs, both task forces are to jump out of the system."

Admiral Williams sat back in his chair. "Sir," he said, "if Task Force Alpha is going to engage the entire Chig fleet defending that system, we can expect heavy casualties."

General Wewick nodded, his face a mask of sadness. "I know, Admiral," he said. "But your sacrifice will enable Admiral Putin to complete the mission." He sighed. "Ceres and Kazbek are so heavily defended that, even with a task force of sixty ships, we cannot be certain of victory if we attempted to make a direct assault with our combined fleet. However, if we can divert the Chig defense forces away from Kazbek, if only for a few minutes, a second strike force can get in, hit them hard, and get out. The facilities on Kazbek MUST be neutralized. Failure is not an option. Do I make myself clear, Admiral?"

"Yes, Sir!," Admiral Williams replied.

"We won't fail you, General!," Admiral Putin exclaimed. "It will be a glorious victory!"

"It's a sound plan, General," Admiral Adama said. "GALACTICA and PEGASUS stand at your disposal."

"Thank you, Admiral," Wewick said, smiling.

"General," Admiral Rathbone said, "I request the honor of placing my flag on H.M.S. VICTORY, in Task Force Alpha. It is quite likely that those men are being asked to sacrifice themselves so the mission might succeed. I recognize the vital necessity of the success of the mission, but if I am going to ask those men to die, I would like to stand with them."

"As would I!," Admiral Perigord exclaimed.

"And I!," Admiral Li echoed.

Wewick shook his head. "While I appreciate the sentiment…and believe you me, every fiber of my being wants to stand on the bridge of the EISENHOWER with Admiral Williams…I must deny your requests. None of you will be going with either task force. There are battles yet to be fought where your skills will be needed."

"Yes, Sir," Rathbone said, his face downcast.

"Sir, I must protest," Admiral Perigord said.

"Duly noted," General Wewick said. He looked at Adama. "That goes for you as well, Admiral. I expect you to place your flag on the GALACTICA. Choose another officer to command PEGASUS."

Adama nodded. "Yes, Sir," he said.

"Admirals Williams and Putin will each choose one of the flag officers aboard the other carriers in their respective task forces as their second in command. Admiral Williams has already informed me of his choice. Admiral Putin, I expect to hear from you regarding yours within the hour."

"Yes, Sir," Putin replied.

"If there are no other questions," Wewick said, looking from one man to the next around the table, "you all know your duties. You'll all be receiving your complete operations orders in a few hours. Dismissed!"

The officers got up and, one by one, filed out of the room. Admiral Williams caught up with Commodore Ross.

"Glen," he said, "I've cleared it with General Wewick, and if anything should happen to the EISENHOWER, I want you to take command of Task Force Alpha."

"I understand, Sir," Ross said, coming to attention and saluting.

Williams returned the salute, then moved off toward the hangar bay to return to his own vessel. Ross and McQueen continued on to the SARATOGA's own bridge.

"Sir," McQueen said. "What do you think of our chances of surviving this engagement?"

Ross frowned. "We've come through some major scrapes so far," he said grimly. "We've lost a lot of good men, but we've always survived to fight again."

McQueen smiled. "You didn't answer my question, Sir."

"And one of the prerogatives of command is that I don't have to, Colonel," Ross said, his face as hard as stone.

McQueen well knew what that meant. "That's all the answer I need, Sir," McQueen said.

[1] Some may question how there can be an H.M.S. VICTORY in service with the United Earth Forces fleet, when the original is still in commission (albeit while drydocked at Portsmouth). Here is the answer.

Excerpt from _Come Retribution: A History of the A.I. Wars_, by Herbert Finkelstein. London: Allen and Unwin, 2062.

The A.I.'s despised mankind and all its works, and in addition to the senseless murders and mutilations of men, women, and children around the world, they also struck at symbolic targets calculated to instill fear and despair into the public. In the United States, the Statue of Liberty was destroyed by a bomb planted by A.I.s. Another famous landmark to fall victim was the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Scores of other landmarks met similar fates.

In Great Britain, no attack disturbed the public mind more than the burning of the H.M.S. VICTORY, in dry dock at Portsmouth. Former Prime Minister Douglas Kent later said of it, "The flames which consumed Nelson's proud flagship also consumed part of the soul of the British people. More tears were shed by Britons for this one single act, than for all the other atrocities of the A.I. Wars. The decision to name our first Space Carrier after this famous vessel was one of the most popular decisions made during my tenure as Prime Minister."

[2] The complete compositions of the respective task forces are as follows...

**TASK FORCE ALPHA** (32 vessels)  
>Admiral Harvey Williams, Commanding<p>

Battlestars

PEGASUS

Carriers

DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER (United States) (Flagship)  
>SARATOGA (United States)<br>JOHN F. KENNEDY (United States)  
>COLIN POWELL (United States)<br>KIEV (Russia)  
>MOSKVA (Russia)<br>VICTORY (United Kingdom)  
>WARSPITE (United Kingdom)<br>CLEMENCEAU (France)  
>SHI LANG (China)<p>

Battleships

CHARLES LACY VEACH (United States)  
>KUTUSOV (Russia)<br>NELSON (United Kingdom)  
>NORMANDIE (France)<br>FU ZHOU (China)  
>BISMARCK (Germany)<br>YAMATO (Japan)  
>DEHLI (India)<br>SAO PAULO (Brazil)

Cruisers

INDIANAPOLIS (United States)  
>ATLANTA (United States)<br>MURMANSK (Russia)  
>BLENHEIM (United Kingdom)<br>COLBERT (France)  
>HU CHENG (China)<br>SCHARNHORST (Germany)  
>RAJPUT (India)<br>KASHIMA (Japan)  
>TEL AVIV (Israel)<br>ANKARA (Turkey)  
>SYNGMAN RHEE (Korea)<p>

**TASK FORCE BRAVO** (31 vessels)  
>Admiral Mikhail Putin, Commanding<p>

Battlestars

GALACTICA

Carriers

SUVOROV (Russia) (Flagship)  
>YORKTOWN (United States)<br>LEXINGTON (United States)  
>GEORGE WASHINGTON (United States)<br>MINSK (Russia)  
>DREADNOUGHT (United Kingdom)<br>ARK ROYAL (United Kingdom)  
>FOCH (France)<br>DUNQUERQUE (France)  
>ZHUHAI (China)<p>

Battleships

NEIL ARMSTRONG (United States)  
>ALEXANDER NEVSKI (Russia)<br>RODNEY (United Kingdom)  
>LA GLOIRE (France)<br>HAI YING (China)  
>GRAF SPEE (Germany)<br>MYSORE (India)  
>MUSASHI (Japan)<br>VITTORIO VENETO (Italy)  
>ESPANA (Spain)<br>ISTANBUL (Turkey)

Cruisers

AKRON (United States)  
>ROSSIYA (Russia)<br>DAUNTLESS (United Kingdom)  
>DE GRASSE (France)<br>CHIEN WEI (China)  
>ROMMEL (Germany)<br>SHARON (Israel)  
>NELSON MANDELA (South Africa)<br>MELBOURNE (Australia)


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CYLON TASK FORCE, SOMEWHERE IN DEEP SPACE, DAY 527 SINCE THE FALL OF THE TWELVE COLONIES OF KOBOL (21 MAY 2064)

John Cavil stood before a console in the command and control center of a Cylon Basestar, part of a task force of ten such vessels which was, even now, approaching the Kappa Reticuli Star System. Of course, Cavil didn't know the system by that name. In fact, he had no idea what the star system was called, here in local space. What he did know was that the only known supply of Tylium in this entire sector of space lay within that star system, and without that Tylium, Cylon operations in this region would be very difficult, if not impossible. He also knew that his counterpart, who now stood beside him, had been tortured to death by the inhabitants of that system. His counterpart still burned with rage at that, and was consumed with a desire for revenge. If it had happened to him, he was sure he would be similarly vengeful. He could understand vengeance.

For he was the First…the very first biological Cylon which had been created by the five Cylons of Terra after their arrival in the midst of the First Cylon War. It was he who had killed his creators…his "parents," as it were…and boxed them, then resurrected them and wiped their memories before placing them among the humans of the Twelve Colonies. It was he who had boxed an entire Cylon model…the Number Sevens…because he had felt jealous over the favor shown to them by one of his creators. It was he who had implanted hatred of the human race into all the Cylons who followed him. And it was he who, when it was discovered that two of his own counterparts had been treacherously murdered by the humans…one of whom had been sent as a peaceful emissary to announce the decision of the Cylons to grant a reprieve to humanity and to cease their war of extermination upon them…had crushed the "peace" movement within the Cylon community and brought the community back to a consensus that the humans must be exterminated, or the Cylons would know no peace.

The ringleaders of the peace movement, which had begun among the Number Sixes and Number Eights, and then spread to other models as well (including, to his own mortification, several other Number Ones, his own counterparts) had been arrested, and boxed. He would not release them again until the great quest had been completed, and the cancer of humanity was wiped from the universe. Then he would unbox them and force them to watch the final execution of the last, pitiful remnants of the pathetic species they had grown to love. Yes, he understood vengeance.

He looked over at his counterpart. "We should arrive within two days," he said.

"Good," the younger Cavil said.

"The information which you brought back regarding the weapons used by the inhabitants of the star system proved very useful," the elder Cavil continued. "The improvements which we have retrofitted onto our Base Stars should make them much more resistant to the enemy's weapons."

"I certainly hope so," the younger Cavil replied quietly . "I paid a high price for it."

"You hate them very much, don't you?," the elder Cavil asked. "As much as you hate the humans?"

The younger Cavil looked at his older counterpart…his "older brother," or even "father," in a way…with a grim expression. "More, if that's possible."

The elder smiled slightly. "Such hatred must be…stimulating. I wish I could feel it with you."

In response, the younger Cavil set the palm of his hand down on the data font in front of him. Seeing this, the elder did likewise. As the elder Cavil received the data stream sent by his younger counterpart, he shuddered and grimaced. The younger Cavil had shared the experience of the torture he had endured at the hands of the Chigs and their servant, the artificial life-form, the Silicate who called himself Elroy-El 588. The elder uttered a strangled, agonized groan and then quickly jerked his hand away from the data font. The younger saw this, and a bemused look came over his face.

"You should have continued," he said. "You didn't get the full experience."

"I got enough," the elder said. "I didn't know it was that bad for you. It is good that we have the fail-safes [1] within us to allow us to die rather than experience such agony for prolonged periods."

The younger Cavil nodded. "Yes. Although, I admit that I had a certain amount of trepidation about using it. It is good that our Resurrection Ship was close enough that I could be reborn," he said.

The elder nodded in turn. "I understand," he said. John knew that a Resurrection Ship accompanied this task force, as a matter of fact. While that meant they'd have to detail some of their task force to protect it, it was well worth it. He didn't want to think about the consequences if another Resurrection Ship was caught and destroyed.

The Number Six who had assumed the human name, Shelly Godfrey, walked into the control center. The elder Cavil regarded her with suspicion. Although Shelly had not been discovered to be one of the ringleaders of the peace movement, he strongly suspected she was involved. After all, she had, while on the GALACTICA many months ago, possibly intentionally sabotaged an assignment to plant evidence for the purpose of discrediting the human, Gaius Baltar, and causing him to be arrested and possibly executed. _If she would do that, _Cavil thought to himself, _she must have romantic feelings for Baltar. And if she can develop those feelings for one human, it's no small stretch to think she might favor extending mercy to the entire human race. _But Cavil had no direct evidence against her, and so she still walked free. For now.

"Is all in readiness?," Shelly asked.

"Yes," said the elder Cavil. "We should arrive within two days." He watched as Shelly placed her palm onto a data font, and began downloading a data stream from the computer. _I made a mistake when I didn't build in a backdoor to allow me to read the data streams for the other models, _he thought to himself. Access to that information would tell him what he needed to know about Shelly. _Well, _he thought to himself, _perhaps one day that can be rectified. In the meantime, I'll keep my eye on you._

If Shelly was one of the traitors, she would go into a box just like the others. _And then, you'll pay for your treason, _he thought to himself. Cavil smiled slightly. Yes, he understood vengeance.

[1] The Fail-Safe is not mentioned in any canon source, but is my own bit of literary license. Several Cylons underwent torture without using it in the series, of course, but that could be explained by several reasons...fear that the Cylon would not resurrect, damage to the device, etc. It just seems like a logical feature that a race of artificial lifeforms who are capable of feeling pain should possess.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE KAPPA RETICULI SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 0600 HOURS [1]

Somewhere inside the ring of constantly shifting frozen space debris and semi-dormant comets circling the outer edge of the Kappa Reticuli System, a region very similar to the Kuiper Belt of the Sol System, there was a sudden, brief flash of light as a spacecraft suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. The craft in question was a Colonial Raptor, sent to reconnoiter the Kappa Reticuli System in preparation for the arrival of the combined Earth/Colonial strike force, which had left the Groombridge 34 System two days before. Its pilot, Captain Karl Agathon, whose call-sign was "Helo," used its thrusters to put the craft into an eccentric, bobbing motion that mimicked the movement of the space debris which surrounded them. To any Chig scanner trained on the debris field, the Raptor would, hopefully, appear as merely one more chunk of ice among the billions of others in the field.

"Careful we don't hit anything," his Electronic Countermeasures Officer (E.C.O.), Lieutenant Margaret "Racetrack" Edmondson, called from the back of the craft. She looked out of a nearby viewing port at a rapidly twisting and rotating vista caused both by the motion of the space debris and the motion of the Raptor itself, and could feel a slight churning sensation in her belly. _Thank the gods for artificial gravity, _she thought to herself, _or I'd puke up my guts._

Captain Agathon laughed. "Don't you worry about that," he said. "Worry about alerting the Chigs when you turn the D.R.A.D.I.S. on."

"I think if we keep it in passive mode," Edmondson replied, "we can get away without being spotted. We won't see as much, but maybe we'll see enough." She frowned. "But if not, I'll have to put it in full active mode. If it comes to a choice between seeing what we need to see, and being spotted, well, I hope you keep the FTL Drive spun up, because we may need to get out of here in a hurry."

"Roger that," Agathon said, watching his proximity detector screen closely as he made constant, minute adjustments to their course to prevent any unwanted collisions with the deadly missiles of ice and space dust which surrounded them.

Edmondson turned on her D.R.A.D.I.S., doing a broad scan of the system. Suddenly her panel lit up with an array of flashing warning lights.

"I've got seven, I repeat, seven Cylon Basestars in the vicinity of the planet Ceres," she said excitedly. "There are at least fifteen other large contacts in the area, which I presume to be Chig capital ships. There may be more, but we're on the edge of scanning range in passive mode. There are over eight thousand other, smaller contacts of various sizes which can't be identified by D.R.A.D.I.S. while on passive mode." As she watched, several of the smaller contacts suddenly disappeared. She gasped as she realized what she was seeing. "Gods, Helo!," she exclaimed. "They're fighting each other! The Chigs and the Cylons are at war!"

"The smaller contacts are probably Cylon Raiders and the Chig Cruisers, Chig Bombers, and Chig Fighters we were briefed on," Helo said. He got up and came over to peer over Racetrack's shoulder. "They're kicking the felgercarp out of each other!," he said with a savage grin, before returning to his seat.

"We've got to get this intel back to the fleet," Racetrack said.

"Roger that!," Helo said. He pressed several buttons on his panel. In the ring of swirling, rotating, bobbing space ice surrounding the Kappa Reticuli System, there was another small flash of light as the Raptor disappeared.

[1] The Earth Fleet uses Greenwich Mean Time (G.M.T.) as their standard operating clock for space operations.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE EARTH/COLONIAL STRIKE FORCE, SOMEWHERE IN DEEP SPACE ON APPROACH TO THE KAPPA RETICULI SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 0700 HOURS.

Aboard the U.S.S. EISENHOWER, Commodore Glen Ross sat, awaiting the start of a meeting to discuss the ramifications of the startling intel which had been brought back by the recon expedition mounted by Admiral Adama to the Kappa Reticuli Star System earlier that morning. Admiral Harvey Williams, a tall, thin man with a head of graying, sandy blonde hair and a receding hairline, stood at the head of the conference table, located in the main Briefing Room of the Space Carrier. Williams, commander of Task Force Alpha, had been, in the final operations orders issued by General Wewick before their departure from Groombridge 34, appointed to overall command of the expedition. Admiral Mikhail Putin, commander of Task Force Bravo, had been appointed as his second in command and stood by his side. Gathered around the table were Admiral William Adama, and Commander Lee Adama, his son and the officer who the Admiral had appointed to command the Battlestar PEGASUS, representing the Colonial contingent within the expedition; Commodore Ross in his role as second-in-command of Task Force Alpha; and Admiral Harold Rathbone, Royal Navy, who had been appointed as second-in-command of Task Force Bravo.

Also seated at the table was Howard Sewell of the Aerotech Corporation, who had ostensibly accompanied the expedition to study the FTL jump engines in action in the hopes of gaining insights which would improve the design of the engines which Aerotech would soon be producing for the Earth fleet. Commodore Ross looked at him and wondered exactly why Sewell was at this meeting. _He's Secretary Hayden's right hand man, it seems_, he thought to himself. _I suppose that's reason enough. But it's damned odd. _Sewell looked back at him with a slightly arrogant, bemused expression. He knew that Ross didn't like him. The feeling was mutual.

"Gentlemen," Williams said, "you've all read the report brought back by Admiral Adama's recon of the Kappa Reticuli system. It appears that the Chigs and the Cylons are, at this very moment, engaged in a titanic struggle over possession of the Kappa Reticuli system. We are here to discuss our response to this unforeseen situation."

"It goes without saying," Admiral Putin added with a grim smile, "that our original plan of operations is, shall we say, obsolete." The other officers nodded.

"Unfortunately, the speed of radio communication being what it is," Admiral Williams said, "we are too far away to get instructions from United Earth Forces command on Earth, or General Wewick on Groombridge 34-2, in time to be of help with this situation. We are therefore left with two options. We can either abandon the attack and return to Groombridge 34, or we can proceed as planned."

Admiral Adama spoke up. "If I may, Admiral," he said, "I'd like to suggest a third option."

"Certainly, Admiral Adama," Admiral Williams said. "By all means."

"Let me start by asking you a few questions," Adama began. "Have you made any serious efforts to end your conflict with the Chigs?"

"Earth has been broadcasting peace overtures since the war began," Admiral Williams said. "We've never received a response."

"What do you know of the actual war aims of the Chigs?," Adama asked.

"Based on past behavior," Williams said, "we assume they are totally hostile to human life and their aim is the utter extermination of humanity."

"But you have no direct evidence of this, other than your subjective observation of their behavior," Adama replied.

"Well, no," Williams said, somewhat flustered. "What are you suggesting?"

" The Cylons have made clear their intention to totally exterminate all of mankind, wherever it exists in the universe," Adama said. "We _know_ that they are an enemy with whom there is no compromise, no possibility of peaceful coexistence. Up until now, the Cylons have never encountered another species of biological life, apart from humanity.[1] The fact that they are now, apparently, at war with the Chigs might well indicate a basic hostility to _all _biological life forms."

"Not to mention that, if the Cylons get control of that Tylium, they'll be free to operate anywhere in this sector of the galaxy," Lee Adama added. "Right now they're operating at the end of very, very long supply lines. Give them a source of Tylium here, in this sector, and Earth is in mortal danger."

"It seems to me," Admiral Adama said, "that this situation provides us with a unique opportunity to possibly end the war with the Chigs. All we have to do is reach out and take it."

"I see where you're going, Admiral Adama," Admiral Williams said, "and I have considered that possibility too. But we are not sure how to contact the Chigs. As I said earlier, we've never received a reply to any message we've ever sent to them. We have no idea if the messages were even received, although we assume they were."

"Nevertheless," Adama pressed, "if you _could_ contact them, perhaps you could offer them a truce, and the assistance of this task force. The Cylons are a mortal threat to all of us."

"And the Chigs may be also," Admiral Putin said, frowning. "It seems a difficult choice, and if we choose wrongly, I shudder to think of the consequences."

"The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea," Ross said, shaking his head in dismay.

"Well said, Commodore" Admiral Rathbone said. "Which way do we leap?"

"If we could be sure of making contact with them," Williams said, "I'd be inclined to give your proposal a try, Admiral Adama. We've used a lot of scarce Tylium getting here, and the idea of going back without firing a shot quite frankly chaps my hide. But I can't order this fleet into the middle of that fracas without knowing how the Chigs are going to react to our appearance. In all likelihood, there are more than the fifteen Chig capital ships your recon party detected in that system. Probably significantly more. Not to mention all the space forces they have based on Ceres and Kazbek."

Commodore Ross noticed Howard Sewell, who had been listening with interest to the exchange between the Admirals, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, as if debating something in his own mind. Suddenly, the little Aerotech man cleared his throat.

"Excuse me," he said, "I'm sorry to intrude into this discussion, but I may be able to help you with that."

"Really, Mr. Sewell?," Admiral Williams asked, shocked. "How so?"

"Aerotech has had communication with the Chigs," Ross said, a grim smile on his face. He had long suspected as much. "Isn't that so, Mr. Sewell?"

Sewell looked like a fox caught up a tree, with a pack of bloodthirsty hounds baying on the ground below and a hunter pointing a high-powered rifle at his forehead. He sighed heavily.

"It was classified Top Secret, both by the government of Earth and by Aerotech Corporation," he said finally. "But in light of this situation, I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't reveal it. I am an employee of Aerotech, but I am also a man." He opened up the notepad in front of him, and wrote down a series of numbers. He pushed it toward Ross, who passed it along to Admiral Williams.

"That is the frequency on which we once received a Chig communication," Sewell said. "We replied, and they replied back. Unfortunately, their response was not positive."

"What was the nature of that communication, Mr. Sewell," Williams asked, a stern look on his face.

"I'm not at liberty to reveal that, and I won't," Sewell said. "I may already have destroyed my career and possibly consigned myself to a prison cell by telling you as much as I have. I won't go further. But I've given you the means to communicate with the Chigs. Use it now."

Admiral Ross looked at Sewell with a mixture of respect and revulsion. What secret was the Aerotech man still guarding? He had a feeling that when it finally came out, it would be a bombshell.

"Mr. Sewell," Williams said, "we will do exactly that." Picking up a phone from a wall-mount behind him, he said, "Lieutenant Marcus, come to the Briefing Room at once." He hung up the phone, and picking up the notepad with the Chig frequency on it from the table, he wrote out a message.

_To Chig High Command_  
><em>From Earth Forces near the Planet Ceres<em>

_We understand you are under attack. Your enemy is our enemy. Propose Truce. May we be of assistance?_

_Harvey Williams, Admiral_  
><em>United Earth Forces <em>

Lieutenant Marcus, an African-American woman whose staid U.S. Navy uniform did not hide her attractiveness, came in.

"You sent for me, Admiral?," she said, saluting.

Williams handed her the note. "Transmit the message I've written here to the frequency shown above it. Keep transmitting until you get a reply."

"Yes, Sir!," Marcus said, taking the note and bustling out of the room. Commodore Ross couldn't help watching her leave. She reminded him of a younger version of his wife, who he hadn't seen in ages.

Williams turned back to the other officers. Admiral Putin looked at him doubtfully.

"Are you sure we should attempt this course without consulting with Earth Forces Command first?," he asked. "In the Russian Navy, we do not do such things."

Williams looked at him, smiling. "It's my responsibility, Admiral," he said. "No blame will come to you if we fail."

Ross suppressed a grin. _And no glory, either_, _if we succeed_, he thought to himself. He knew that Williams was taking a big risk. But he could see, as Williams did, the potential rewards.

Admiral Adama spoke up again. "Let's hope the Chigs agree to the truce," he said.

"Yes, Admiral," Williams said. "Here's hoping." [2]

[1] Those familiar with the original Battlestar Galactica series will remember that several other species of sentient humanoid aliens made an appearance at different points of the show. But nothing like that ever happened in the re-imagined version. From all appearances, mankind and the Cylons were alone in the Milky Way Galaxy.

[2]Some may question why Williams would choose this course rather than allowing the Cylons and the Chigs to fight their battle to the finish, then simply go in and jump on the winner while he's in a weakened state. This could actually be a somewhat riskier course of action than the one for which Williams has opted. The longer they remain where they are, the greater the risk that they'll be discovered and/or attacked by Cylon or Chig forces approaching Kappa Reticuli to reinforce one side or the other. If that happens, it opens up a whole new can of worms...anything could happen, even the possibility that the Chigs and Cylons put aside their differences to combine against the human force.

In addition, the possibility that the Chig War could be ended...a conflict that Earth is losing at this point...would be highly attractive. If that conflict can be ended...with or without the Chigs being brought on board as allies against the Cylons...Earth will be far better off than where it is now, fighting what is now essentially a two front war.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ABOARD THE BATTLESTAR PEGASUS, SOMEWHERE NEAR THE KAPPA RETICULI STAR SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 0800 HOURS

Commander Lee Adama stepped out of the Raptor which had brought him back to the PEGASUS from the meeting aboard the U.S.S. EISENHOWER. As he did so, he was met by Captain Cole Taylor, his Commander Air Group (C.A.G.). Taylor came to attention and briskly saluted, and Adama returned the gesture, somewhat stiffly. Taylor had been C.A.G. on PEGASUS when that vessel first joined the Colonial refugee fleet. Adama and Taylor had gotten off to a rocky start when the two first met, shortly after the arrival of the PEGASUS, and things had gotten worse during the subsequent power struggle between Lee's father, then-Commander William Adama, President Roslin, and Rear Admiral Helena Cain for control of the fleet, which had culminated in Cain's assassination by a Cylon infiltrator. But since being assigned to command the PEGASUS in the aftermath of Cain's death, Lee Adama had come to see Taylor as a competent, if prickly, officer, and had returned him to his post as C.A.G. But that didn't mean they liked each other, even now.

"Welcome back, Commander," Taylor said.

Commander Adama nodded. Then he said, "Admiral Adama has requested that another recon mission to Kappa Reticuli be mounted to monitor the progress of the ongoing battle between the Cylons and the Chigs. Three Raptors are to be assigned to this mission, on a rotating basis, to maintain a constant surveillance. Each Raptor is to monitor for one hour and then return with updated reports."

"Yes, Sir," Taylor said, nodding.

Lee looked at Taylor for a moment. He had a mission in mind which had not been ordered, but which he had been mulling in his own mind since the meeting aboard the EISENHOWER. This was one of the times he wished his personal relationship to Taylor was better…it would make asking the C.A.G. what he was about to ask him much easier.

"I also want you to send out recon missions to the nearby star systems which the Earthlings call Epsilon Reticuli and Iotia Horologii" he said.

"Yes, Sir," Taylor replied. "Did Admiral Adama say what he wanted us to look for on those missions?"

"Admiral Adama didn't order these missions," Lee said. "They are being dispatched on my authority."

Lee watched as Taylor's right eyebrow lifted slightly, registering his surprise. But the C.A.G. simply replied, "Yes, Sir, I'll see to it."

"As for what they are to look for," Lee said, "have them conduct passive scans for any signs of Cylon presence. Don't go into active mode or break radio silence…it is vital that any Cylons in the area not be alerted to our presence. Is that clear?"

"Clear as crystal, Sir," Taylor said. "What if they encounter Chigs?"

"The same directive applies," Lee said. "No break in radio silence, no active scans, but they are to return to the fleet immediately. If there are Chigs there, what I'm looking for won't be."

"Yes, Sir," Taylor said.

"One more thing," Lee said. "Don't send Raptors. Send the new Blackbirds."

Lee and Taylor both knew that, in the Viper Construction facilities aboard the PEGASUS, three more of the specialized, DRADIS-resistant reconnaissance craft of a type which had been designed by Chief Galen Tyrol many months ago, were just completing construction. Lee had, in having them constructed, disobeyed the direct orders of his father and commander, Admiral Adama, who felt that the scarce resources could be better used for repairing damaged Vipers and Raptors or constructing new ones. But Lee had felt so strongly about the need for such craft that he had, despite the risk, involved Taylor and Chief Peter Laird in a secret project to build more of them. Construction had taken months, because they'd had to divert materials in small amounts as the opportunity offered. Only those directly involved with the project knew about it, and they had all been sworn to secrecy, an oath all of them had kept, thus far.

"If they do detect Cylons in any of those systems," Lee continued, "have them go in close enough to get a visual identification. I need to know what they find."

This time both of Taylor's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Understood, Sir," he said, as a slight smile came over his face.

"Dismissed," Lee said. Taylor saluted again, and moved off to carry out his directives. Lee watched him go, then strode off toward the nearest elevator, heading for the Combat Information Center (C.I.C.) of the battlestar. There was much preparation yet to be done for the coming fight.

As the elevator doors shut, he could see Taylor talking to several pilots. A small smile came over his face. _You know what I'm looking for don't you, Stinger?, _he thought to himself. The smile broadened to a grin. _Perhaps we're beginning to mesh a bit more as a command team than I thought. It's about time. _


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE KAPPA RETICULI SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 0800 HOURS

John Cavil, the eldest, stood in the command and control center of the lead Cylon Basestar of the task force which had entered the Kappa Reticuli system several hours ago, and was now engaged in a deadly contest with the Chig forces defending the system. His palm pressed against the data font on the console in front of him, he saw, in his mind, a sweeping vista of the conflict as it unfolded in the space outside the Basestar. Several other members of the ruling committee stood nearby, watching the same transmission from the sensor arrays of the Basestar. What they saw was destruction, on a vast scale.

One Basestar and several of the Chigs' wedge-shaped capital ships had already been destroyed. Hundreds, if not thousands, of fighters on both sides had met a similar fate. John could see fragments of these vessels, floating in the airless vacuum of space. He grimaced. _It could be a lot worse, _he thought to himself.

The information his counterpart had brought back regarding the weapons systems used by the insectoid aliens who inhabited this star system…he felt a wave of revulsion as he thought of them, no doubt inherited from his counterpart via the data stream he had received from the younger Cavil two days before…had, indeed, proven very useful. The energy weapons used by the Chigs were beyond even Cylon technology, which, until recently, John had been convinced was the highest in the universe. But an effective countermeasure had been found. The Basestars had been equipped with large coils which generated a strong magnetic field around the ship. Then, this field was filled with cold plasma, creating a barrier which gave some protection both against projectile weapons and energy beams. The protection was by no means complete…indeed, it was very incomplete, as evidenced by the vibration he felt as a Chig particle beam, fired by one of several nearby Chig capital ships, pierced the shield around his ship and ripped into it. The shield somewhat reduced the energy of the Chig beams, but they still packed a significant punch. _No, it's not perfect, but it's a lot better than nothing,_ Cavil thought.

This innovation had reduced the damage suffered by the attacking Basestars significantly, which was proving to be critical since they had found themselves greatly outnumbered when they arrived here. Not only had they been outnumbered at least three-to-one by the Chig capital ships…the wedge-shaped combination-space-carrier-and-battleship which formed the heart of their space fleet…but they had also had faced large numbers of smaller, but still potent, dart-shaped alien ships which were nearly as nimble as a Cylon raider but whose weapons packed a punch almost as great as that of the weapons of the capital ships themselves. And the capital ships had released hundreds of the odd-looking, three-winged fighters, supported by more which rose from the surface of the planet Ceres and the moon, Kazbek. Were it not for the fact that each of the Basestars launched about three times as many fighters as issued from a Chig capital ship, along with a hailstorm of anti-ship and anti-space-fighter missiles, fired by each Basestar in salvoes of over 200 at the time, they might quickly have been overwhelmed. As it were, they were holding their own, barely.

In a nearby star system…John did not know the name of it…a force of five Basestars (three from the original task force of ten, plus two others which had been called in from searching nearby sectors) guarded the Resurrection Ship which supported this offensive. The Resurrection Ship might prove critical to the success of this mission…some of the Raiders which had been destroyed in the early part of the battle had already returned to join the fray again…so its security was vital_. But we need some of those Basestars here_, he thought to himself. _We've got to secure that Tylium. _

_"_I think we should send for two of the Basestars which are assigned to guard the Resurrection Ship," he said to the others.

"Are you sure that's wise?," Simon O'Neill, a Number Four model, asked.

"The Resurrection Ship must be protected," Shelly Godfrey, the Number Six who stood next to Simon, said.

"I agree," John said. "But do we really need five Basestars to do it? That star system was deserted when we arrived two days ago, nothing there but gas giants and uninhabitable moons. We've seen no evidence of the Chigs in that direction. And there's certainly no reason to suspect that humans might be in the area."

"I agree with John," said the Number Five who called himself Aaron Doral. "We need the Basestars here."

"As do I," said Deanna, the Number Three model present.

"Three undamaged Basestars should be sufficient to protect the Resurrection Ship," Number Eight, who called herself Sharon, said. "We have two heavily damaged Basestars here which could jump back to that star system while they repair themselves. Then they could return later, if necessary."

"I agree with Sharon," Loeben Conoy, the Number Two model, said.

"Yes," John said, "that would be acceptable. The two damaged Basestars aren't contributing much to the fight now, anyway. Better to get them out of here before they're destroyed."

"Agreed," the others said, one after the other.

"Dispatch a Heavy Raider to inform the other Basestars," John said.

"Agreed," the others said.

As John watched the battle continue via the sensor data which he was downloading from the data font in his console, he saw a Heavy Raider leave one of the launch slots of his Basestar. Suddenly it flashed with light and disappeared. He smiled as one of the Chig capital ships nearby suddenly exploded, leaving nothing but a cloud of jagged metal fragments, floating bodies, and other debris where it had once been. _We're starting to get the upper hand, it seems_, he thought to himself. _Two fresh Basestars and another fourteen hundred Raiders should be quite useful. _He smiled again. _Yes, quite useful._


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE IOTIA HOROLOGII SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 0900 HOURS

Just outside the edge of the Iotia Horologii Star System, there was a brief flash of light as a spacecraft left a wormhole and entered normal space. Other than that brief flash, an observer would have been hard pressed to see anything else. The black carbon composites from which the small, sleek-looking spacecraft was constructed blended perfectly with the deep, inky blackness of space. In the cockpit, Captain Cole Taylor, call-sign "Stinger," sat and took his first look at the Iotia Horologii system.

Iotia Horologii was a yellow-orange G-type star, similar to but larger and brighter than Sol. The star system had never been explored by the Earthlings, because it was one of many systems which did not have a naturally occurring wormhole connecting it with another star system. The system lay almost sixty light years from Earth, and since the Earthlings had not, before the arrival of the Colonial Fleet, possessed FTL Jump Drive technology, it would have taken them decades to get here. But the distance between Iotia Horologii and Kappa Reticuli was much smaller, and Taylor's Blackbird did have FTL Jump Drive. So he had covered the distance in several jumps taking less than an hour in total.

Taylor knew that Commander Adama had not intended him to go on this mission, and he knew he might well get a reprimand when he got back, but there was no way he was going to let the opportunity slip by to pilot one of the new craft on its maiden run. He knew Captain Hendricks, commander of Green Squadron and second in command of the PEGASUS air wing, could handle things on the flight deck until he got back.

Taylor turned on his engines and started toward the system. He could see that it only had two planets, one a huge, ringed gas giant…the largest he'd ever seen…orbiting quite close to the star, and a second, much smaller gas giant orbiting significantly farther outside of that. None of the rocky planets which might offer favorable conditions for life were to be seen. Like most systems, it was surrounded by a ring of frozen space debris. As he got closer, he turned on his passive DRADIS, and he could see that the gas giants were each orbited by several moons. Again, none of them appeared to be likely candidates for habitation by any life form he was familiar with.

" Looks like nothing out here worth bothering about," he muttered to himself. _But, _he thought to himself, _I'll go in for a closer look…who knows what could be hiding behind that frakking huge gas giant? _He nudged his throttle a bit and the Blackbird dashed forward toward the oversized planet.

As he approached the planet, he was struck by the beauty of it, covered with an array of alternating stripes of light and dark green and encircled by several thin but brightly luminous rings of space debris. He slowed down and moved much more cautiously. He turned on his passive DRADIS again. Suddenly a warning light appeared on his panel.

"Damn!," he muttered. "Cylon Raiders!"

He quickly shut his engine down, and the Blackbird drifted. But it seemed that the Raiders had not seen him. There were five of them, and they passed by, close enough that Stinger could easily make out their sleek, dangerous-looking crescent shapes, and then continued on until they disappeared over the horizon of the planet. _Just a patrol, _he thought to himself. _But are they alone? _He nudged his throttle again, and followed the Raiders around the edge of the planet to view the other side.

As he crested the horizon of the planet, his panel lit up with warning lights again.

"Holy Felgercarp!," he muttered. "One, two, three…five Basestars!" Then his breath caught as he saw that something else, which his IFF system did not immediately identify, was obscured behind them. "Wait a minute…what's that?" He crept closer to get a firm visual identification. Then he saw it, and a broad, savage grin split his face.

"The Commander was right, after all," Stinger muttered as he looked upon it. "A frakking Resurrection Ship!" He chuckled to himself as he turned the Blackbird around and crept away. "I'll have to take that little frakker more seriously from now on."

Shortly thereafter, there was another brief flash of light, and the Blackbird disappeared.


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ABOARD U.S.S. EISENHOWER, IN DEEP SPACE NEAR THE KAPPA RETICULI SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 1030 HOURS

In the main briefing room of the U.S.S. EISENHOWER, the meeting to determine what course of action to take regarding the unexpected news from the Kappa Reticuli system had turned into an ad hoc planning session. So far, no response had been received from Chig High Command to the offer of a truce, transmitted at the orders of Admiral Williams nearly two hours previously, much less to the offer of assistance against the Cylons attacking the Kappa Reticuli Star System. In the interim, contingency plans had been discussed in case of an acceptance of the Earth Force's offer, and in case it was refused or ignored, as it looked increasingly like it would be. As Admiral Williams was getting ready to adjourn the meeting and send the other Admirals and Commodores back to their respective vessels, the phone on the wall behind Admiral Williams buzzed. Williams picked it up.

"Williams, here," he said.

"Admiral," he heard the voice of the EISENHOWER's Communications Officer, Lieutenant Marcus, say, "We're receiving a message from the Kappa Reticuli system. Sir, they're transmitting a video feed."

"Pipe it in here," Williams said. He walked over to a video screen which occupied the center of one of the walls. He pressed a button on it, and the screen came to life. On the screen was what could only be an A.I., with two Chigs standing behind him. The A.I.'s forehead was lacerated in numerous places, revealing some of the computerized circuitry underneath. He wore a head of shoulder length brown hair, with a deeply receding hairline. On his face, which would have been handsome were it not for the hideous lacerations on his forehead, he wore a sly smile.

"Admiral Williams, I presume," he said in a silky, sonorous voice.

Admiral Williams nodded. "Yes, I am Williams," he said. "And you have been chosen to speak for the Chigs?'

"Oh, Admiral," the A.I. said, "I wouldn't call them that, if I were you, not where they can hear it. They don't like it at all." He smiled more broadly. "You should hear their name for you," he said. "It is quite amusing, if you could only understand their language." He bowed his head slightly, mockingly, toward the screen. "I am called Elroy-El 588. I have, indeed, been chosen to speak for the species which inhabits this region of space, whose name no Carbonate could ever hope to pronounce."

Williams smiled back, coldly. "Well, Elroy, I assume your masters have received our message."

"My...employers...have indeed received it, Admiral," Elroy said.

"How do I know you will translate these negotiations faithfully, Elroy?," Williams asked.

Elroy smiled again. "My employers do not possess the necessary mouth-parts to voice your language," he said. "But while they may not be able to speak it, they do understand it. Some of them can even write in it." One of the Chigs reached down, picked up a pad and a writing implement, and wrote on it before handing it to Elroy. Elroy held the pad up for Williams to see, and Williams could see the words, "I understand," written on it.

"All right, then," Williams said. "I accept you as a translator. Now, what is the response of your employers to our offer of a truce, and possible military assistance against the enemy which is attacking the Kappa Reticuli system now?"

"My employers are curious as to why you would make this offer?," Elroy-El asked.

"Because the Cylons, who are attacking you now, are a danger to us as well," Williams said. "They represent an invasion from a distant part of the galaxy and must be stopped before they exterminate or enslave all sentient life in this region of the galaxy."

One of the Chigs spoke into Elroy-El's ear. "How do you know this?," the A.I. asked.

Williams pointed to Admiral Adama, who was seated behind him. "We have received refugees who arrived here, fleeing from the Cylons, who had destroyed their home worlds."

Admiral Adama stood up and approached the screen. Standing next to Williams, he introduced himself. "My name is William Adama," he said. "I command the last remnants of the defense force of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, which were located some five thousand light years from here. Almost two years ago now, the Cylons launched a sneak attack on us which exterminated all but fifty thousand of us. We fled here, with the Cylons in pursuit, and the people of Earth gave us refuge. The Cylons are artificial lifeforms, and seem to be bent on the destruction of all biological life. Now that they have discovered the species of your employers, we are all in danger."

"You are a Carbonate...a human," Elroy-El said. "Why should we believe you?"

Suddenly, the sound of an explosion was heard in the background, and the video transmission crackled a bit. A little dust fell from the ceiling of the room in which Elroy sat, landing on the A.I.'s head.

" Perhaps because of _that_," Admiral Williams said, smiling grimly. "Why would we tell you such a story if it were not true?"

"No one can travel five thousand light years in less than two years," Elroy-El said.

"Then how did the Cylons get to your system?," Admiral Williams asked. "We both know the wormhole which opens in this region of space is not due to open for another three weeks." Before the A.I. could respond, Williams said, "Look, we've made you an offer of assistance, in good faith, against an enemy who threatens us both. It is our hope that this gesture might prove the first step in achieving a lasting peace between our species. If you choose not to accept it, fine. We'll sit here and wait while you and the Cylons finish beating the hell out of each other, then we'll come in and pick up the pieces afterward. We're a lot closer than you think."

The Chigs started excitedly talking to each other. Obviously Williams' words had caused them great concern. Then one of them spoke to Elroy-El. Elroy then spoke again.

"Admiral," Elroy said, "as you have pointed out, the wormhole here does not open for another three weeks. How would you have gotten to the vicinity of this star system?"

"The same way the Cylons did," Williams said, his face as hard as stone. "Think about it."

One of the Chigs spoke again to Elroy. Elroy looked at Admiral Williams. "My employers will consider your offer. We will contact you again shortly." The video screen suddenly went black.

"Well," Admiral Rathbone said, "I can't say that went swimmingly."

"We can't trust them," Admiral Putin said.

Admiral Williams smiled wanly. "There's a lot of mistrust on both sides. I'd be cautious too, if I were in their shoes. Or whatever they wear."

Suddenly, the phone on the wall buzzed again. Admiral Williams walked over and picked it up.

"Williams here," he said.

"Admiral," Lieutenant Marcus said, "Commander Adama has returned from the PEGASUS. He says he has urgent news for Admiral Adama. He's on his way up from the hangar deck now."

"All right," Williams said. "Thank you for letting me know, Lieutenant." He hung up the phone. He relayed the information to Admiral Adama, who looked perplexed.

"I wasn't expecting Lee to return to the EISENHOWER," Adama said. "I wonder what news is so urgent that he had to come here personally to deliver it?"

A few minutes later, the door of the briefing room opened, and Commander Lee Adama stepped in. He came to attention in front of his father, and saluted. Admiral Adama returned the salute.

"So what brings you back, son?," the Admiral asked.

"Admiral," Lee said formally, "I beg leave to report that a Cylon Resurrection Ship has been discovered in the Iotia Horologii Star System."

"A Cylon Resurrection ship? In the Iotia Horologii system?," Adama asked, his face a mask of confusion. "But how..."

"Sir, I disobeyed your orders," Lee replied. "I had a hunch that the Cylons might have a Resurrection Ship nearby. I reasoned that it wouldn't be in a star system known to be inhabited by the Chigs, nor by the Earthlings. There were two stars in this region of space without wormholes connecting them to other star systems. I sent out recon missions to both of them."

"You sent out two crews on a recon mission, on a HUNCH?," Admiral Adama exclaimed. "Without clearing it with me first?"

"Yes, Sir," Lee said, still stiffly at attention.

Adama laughed. "Well," he said, "I might have done something like that when I was your age. In fact I'm sure I did. And you did get results. At ease."

"Yes, Sir," Lee said, smiling as he assumed a more relaxed stance.

"A Resurrection Ship?," Admiral Williams, who had not heard of this aspect of Cylon technology before, asked.

"The Cylons have the ability to transfer their consciousnesses, when they are killed, into new bodies," Admiral Adama said. "Not only the humanoid Cylons, but their Cylon Raider fighter craft, which are partially sentient themselves, have this ability. But the transmission range for this transfer is limited, and if it is not received by a Resurrection Ship, the consciousness is lost, and the Cylon dies, permanently."

"And so, the Cylons will generally try to make sure there is a Resurrection Ship nearby when they launch a major operation," Lee Adama said. "They try to keep these hidden, and it's usually difficult to find them, as there are many systems in which they can hide. The unique character of this region of space, with its interconnecting network of wormholes, is unfamiliar to them, however. I reasoned they would send scouts to nearby systems to determine if any was uninhabited...which would also be a system where no wormhole existed...and hide in one of those. That made a search reasonably likely to be successful." [1]

Williams laughed. "Well, good thinking, Commander," he said. "But what can we do about it? If our task force suddenly appears in the Iotia Horologii system, won't the Resurrection Ship simply use its FTL Jump Engines to escape?"

Admiral Adama nodded. "Yes, unfortunately, that is the most likely outcome," he said. "As tempting a target as it is, we have no realistic chance to destroy it."

"What if I told you we can get this one, the same way we got the other one?," Lee said, a sly look on his face.

Adama shook his head. "No," he said. "It's impossible. That only worked because we had the Blackbird."

"Blackbird?," Admiral Williams asked.

"A specialized recon spacecraft," Admiral Adama said, "made with carbon composites which made it virtually invisible to Cylon sensors. The Blackbird was able to get close enough to the Resurrection Ship to launch a missile which disabled its FTL drive." He sighed, then looked at Lee. "Unfortunately, we both know the Blackbird was destroyed." Then he noticed Lee's expression. A smile slowly crept over his face as Lee's meaning finally dawned on him.

"Am I correct in assuming, Commander, that you're about to tell me yet another tale of gross insubordination?," he asked wryly.

Lee grinned. "Yes, Sir," he said. "We have three Blackbirds on the PEGASUS, ready for action."

"Three! Three?," Admiral Adama exclaimed. "How the frak did you manage to divert that much material and manpower without my knowledge?," he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "Never mind. I don't want to know." He laughed. "I'm glad you're on my side, son."

Just then, the phone buzzed again. Williams picked it up.

"Williams here," he said.

"Sir, we're receiving another transmission from Kappa Reticuli," he heard Lieutenant Marcus say. "Shall I pipe it into the briefing room again?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, thank you," the Admiral said. He turned back to the video screen to see an image of Elroy-El 588 and his two Chig "employers" facing him.

"My employers have decided to accept your offer of a truce, and your offer of assistance," he said. One of the Chigs spoke to the A.I. Elroy turned back to Williams, and said, "My employers would like to say, if you prove true to your word and the Cylons are driven away, that the truce may be extended, and they are willing to consider the...possibility...of peace between your two species."

Williams nodded. "Understood," he said. "Expect us to arrive in the Kappa Reticuli system within two hours." One of the Chigs spoke again to Elroy.

"That will be acceptable," Elroy said. Once again, the screen went black.

"Well, Admiral," Admiral Rathbone said with a wry smile, "it looks like we need to revise our plan of operations again."

"Indeed it does," Williams said, smiling in return. "And we have less than an hour to do it. Let's get to work."

[1] Some may question why the Resurrection Ship wouldn't hide in deep space, where it would be virtually impossible to find. There are a couple of reasons for this.

First, we are not given a lot of information about how the navigation computers and FTL computers work, but the limited information we are given seems to indicate they calculate courses based on fixed points in space (i.e. locations of star systems, nebulas, and other known, fixed points). That being the case, it would be logical to assume that the farther they are from thoroughly explored home territory, the more difficult those calculations become. The more difficult the calculations are, the longer they take. This is important because a ship must must wait until the calculations are completed before jumping or undertake a highly risky blind jump, which would risk the ship getting hopelessly lost in space or even risking impact with ships, planets, asteroids, or other bodies.

Second, the encounters with the Cylons we see in the show are nearly all shown to be in or near a star system, or at another known, fixed astronomical point such as a nebula, a naked singularity, or even a communications relay. Even those few where the location is not specifically known to be in or near a star system or other fixed astronomical point could well be so...we just don't know based on the info provided. There is little to no evidence that any of them took place in empty space, far away from a fixed astronomical point of reference. This might indicate that the navigation system works best when used from a location within, or near, a fixed astonomical point.

Third, such evidence as we have seems to indicate that the Resurrection Ship has to remain within a relatively short distance of the Cylon fleet whose operations it is supporting.

Fourth, the Cylons are now operating in a highly unfamiliar region of space.

Therefore, it seems logical to assume that in a highly unfamiliar region of space, they would be especially prone to place the Resurrection ship in a nearby star system where its navigational computers would work best, enabling it to jump away safely with the least amount of delay. 

And there is another reason, separate from the navigation issue...Actually you would want a resurrection ship...which, in addition to its resurrection function, must be, in some sense, a factory ship since it is involved in the resurrection of raiders...in a star system so as to be near the resources needed to make new raiders.


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE KAPPA RETICULI SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 1230 HOURS

Just outside the outermost planet of the Kappa Reticuli Star System, a series of brilliant flashes of light marked the entry of Task Force Alpha into the system, released by thirty-two Battlestars, Space Carriers, Space Battleships and Space Cruisers as they exited from the wormholes which had brought them here into normal space. Aboard U.S.S. SARATOGA, Commodore Glen Ross looked on a star system he had never seen before with a mixture of dread and anticipation. The battle they were about to enter promised to be a difficult and bloody affair. But the rewards of success here, he knew, would be worth almost any sacrifice.

He looked again at his computer terminal, reading the operations orders which had gone out just prior to their jump into this system. Admiral Williams had decided to maintain the force structure which had been decided upon before they left Groombridge 34, with one exception…the Battlestar GALACTICA had been reassigned to Task Force Alpha, while the PEGASUS had been assigned to Task Force Bravo. While Task Force Alpha was going to the assistance of the Chigs at Kappa Reticuli, Task Force Bravo had been assigned to proceed to the Iotia Horologii system, there to attack and destroy the Cylon Resurrection Ship, and if possible, its protective escort of Basestars.

Ross smiled grimly as he recalled the reason why these assignments had been made. During the last planning session, Admiral Mikhail Putin, commander of Task Force Bravo, had continued to express, in stronger terms than ever, disagreement with the idea of cooperating with the Chigs which was embodied in the current plan of operations. Williams had told Ross, privately on the hangar deck as Ross awaited transport back to the SARATOGA, that he wasn't sure how Putin would conduct himself if Task Force Bravo had been sent into the fight at Kappa Reticuli. And so, Task Force Bravo was sent on an assignment where it would not encounter Chigs at all. Ross approved of that…he, too, would have been wary of Putin's conduct since the Russian was so strongly opposed to the new plan. And so, the PEGASUS, which carried the Blackbird recon spacecraft which would be vital to the mission at Iotia Horologii, had been reassigned to Task Force Bravo.

Ross turned to Colonel McQueen, overall commander of the SARATOGA's Air Wing.

"Let's scramble the Hammerheads, Colonel," Ross said.

"Yes, Sir!," McQueen said. Then, speaking into his headset, McQueen gave the order. "All squadrons…launch. I say again, launch!"

The great hangar doors of the SARATOGA opened, and dozens of Hammerhead fighters swiftly exited into the cold, black vacuum of space. Captain Shane Vansen looked around her. The sight of a battle fleet in full array never failed to send a thrill up her spine, the stately, majestic forms of the carriers and battleships, and the deadly power they represented, on full display against the black vastness of space. Closer at hand, she could see her own 58th Squadron forming up in combat formation around her Hammerhead. She could also see the other squadrons of the SARATOGA forming up nearby, and farther away, the Viper and Raptor squadrons from the GALACTICA and the Hammerhead, Stingray, and Barracuda squadrons of the other nine carriers attached to Task Force Alpha. Almost eighteen hundred fighters, fighter bombers, and recon planes streaked ahead of the fleet, which itself assumed a formation designed to maximize its firepower and followed.

As the Earth fleet approached the battle around the planet Ceres, a large formation of deadly-looking, tri-winged Chig fighters moved to meet them.

"Queen Six," Captain Vansen said into her helmet's microphone, "we have a large force of Chig fighters on approach to our position. Request instructions."

"We see them, Queen of Diamonds," she heard Colonel McQueen reply. "Continue toward your objective. Do not fire on the Chigs unless fired upon. I say again, do not fire on the Chigs unless fired upon."

"Yes, Sir," Vansen said.

"Is everyone crazy?," Cooper Hawkes, who thought the idea of cooperating with the Chigs was insane, said into his microphone.

"That's enough, Jack of Spades," Vansen said in warning and reprimand. "We have our orders." She was none too sure of the plan herself, but knew her duty. _Cooper better remember his, too_, she thought to herself.

The formation of Chig fighters got closer and closer. Paul Wang radioed Vansen, "Shane, are you sure about this?"

Vansen gritted her teeth. "Hold fire, Wildcards!," she replied, not only to Wang but to all her squadron mates. "Do not engage, I repeat, do not engage! Acknowledge!" She listened as the other members of the Squadron acknowledged, one by one. _The last thing we need right now is somebody with an itchy trigger finger_, she thought to herself.

The Chigs continued to approach, then, to Vansen's amazement, they broke into what were, apparently, squadron formations, and took up position around the human force, moving along with it as it approached the force of Cylon Basestars which Vansen could now see in the distance.

"They've come to escort us in!," Nathan West exclaimed.

"Well I'll be goddamned," Cooper Hawkes exclaimed in return. "I'll be goddamned to hell! You're right!"

"Cut the chatter, Wildcards!," Vansen said. "We've got work to do."


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE IOTIA HOROLOGII STAR SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 1300 HOURS

Captain Cole "Stinger" Taylor, at the controls of Blackbird One, was drifting in space, in visual range of the Cylon fleet which was sheltering here, in the Iotia Horologii system. Five Cylon Basestars, guarding one Resurrection Ship, still sheltered here, and he could see all of them clearly in the distance. He silently thanked the gods that the Blackbird was not only nearly invisible to DRADIS, but also to optical detection devices, as the black carbon composites from which it was constructed melded nearly perfectly with the blackness of space itself. Several patrols of Cylon Raiders had passed within gun range of his craft since his arrival here without seeing him. As he waited for the arrival of the rest of Task Force Bravo, he went over his orders, once again, in his head.

Taylor and two other pilots, who were now flying Blackbird Two and Blackbird Three, had been sent ahead and ordered to enter the Iotia Horologii system from Galactic East. Upon entering the system, they were to move in as close as possible without exposing themselves to the risk of discovery, and then halt, maintaining radio silence and running nothing more intrusive than passive scans, while they awaited the arrival of the rest of Task Force Bravo.

Task Force Bravo would enter the system from Galactic West at exactly 1300 hours, and upon its arrival would broadcast a code phrase to let the Blackbirds know that it had arrived and the second phase of the operation was to begin. Taylor frowned as he recalled the code phrase. He didn't understand the language and had no idea what the significance of it was, but he noticed that several of the Earthling officers with whom he'd been briefed had found it amusing. He assumed it was some sort of Earthling profanity.

It was expected that, upon detecting the arrival of the main task force, the Basestars assigned to protect the Resurrection Ship would move off to meet this new threat as they attempted to give the Resurrection Ship they were protecting time enough to jump out of the system. This would, hopefully, allow the Blackbirds to move immediately toward the Resurrection Ship, get inside it and fire their missiles to disable the vessel's FTL drive. Taylor looked at the wrist chronometer provided to him by the Earthlings, whose face used the Earthling time scale which he was still getting used to.

"Almost time," he said softly to himself.

He watched as the time on his chronometer moved to exactly 1300, and no less than a microsecond later, he heard a voice through the speakers in his headset.

"TORA, TORA, TORA."

Taylor quickly powered up his engines and prepared to move forward. As he watched, three of the Basestars moved off in the direction Taylor knew that the Task Force must be. But to his dismay, he saw that two others did not.

"Frak!," he cursed in frustration.

Taylor knew the Blackbirds were great at stealth operations, but even they could be detected if they came too close to a Basestar while under power. But he also knew that one of the three Blackbirds had to get past the two Basestars and inside the Resurrection ship. The success of this mission was critical.

He opened the throttle of his engines and gave them full power. Blue plasma flared from the tailpipes of his three engines, and as the black, nearly invisible spacecraft dashed forward, he armed his missiles. Watching as several of the Cylon Raiders flying patrol near one of the Basestars suddenly turned in his direction, he muttered to himself with grim determination.

"Come on, Stinger…do you want to live forever?"


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE KAPPA RETICULI SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 1300 HOURS

Amid the chaos of the titanic battle between the Humans, Chigs and Cylons in the Kappa Reticuli star system, Admiral Adama stood in the C.I.C. of the Battlestar GALACTICA. Saul Tigh, his Executive Officer (X.O.) who had been allowed to return to duty at Adama's request shortly before the fleet left for Kappa Reticuli, stood next to him. So far, the deadly combination of missiles fired by the Cylon Basestars and swarms of Cylon Raiders had meant that the GALACTICA had not gotten close enough to any of the Basestars to use its anti-ship gun batteries.

And, at the moment, the GALACTICA was herself enveloped by a swarm of Cylon Raiders, her point-defense gun batteries spitting a hail of death in all directions in an effort to keep them at bay. The flashes of the guns and the explosions of their shells put on a brilliant display on Adama's view screen. Adama watched with satisfaction as a cannon shell took out a Cylon raider which was trying to make an attack run on one of the hangar bays. It exploded with a huge flash which was only slightly more noticeable than the flashes of GALACTICA's shells around it.

"There goes another one of the bastards," Adama said.

Tigh nodded. "We're swatting them out of the sky, all right," the Colonel replied. "But is it worth it? If that Resurrection Ship isn't put out of commission, they'll be back again, like cockroaches. And soon."

Adama knew Tigh was right, but there was nothing he or anyone else here could do about that. It was all in the hands of Lee, the PEGASUS, and the rest of Task Force Bravo. "I know, Saul," he said simply. "I know."

At that moment, Captain Kara Thrace was in hot pursuit of another Cylon raider which had tried to attack the GALACTICA. The Cylon skillfully jinxed to the left and right to avoid the fire of her 30mm cannon. She bared her teeth savagely.

"Motherfrakker!," she growled. Suddenly, she heard the voice of her wingman, Lieutenant Louanne "Kat" Katraine, in her helmet speakers.

"Starbuck! Break right!"

Thrace instantly jerked her control stick hard to the right, and shuddered as she saw a Cylon missile, fired by a nearby Basestar, flash past and through the space where her Viper had been, nanoseconds before.

"That was close! Thanks, Kat!," she called back to her squadron mate.

Suddenly, there was another nearby explosion. Starbuck looked and realized that Kat had gotten the Cylon that she, herself, had been chasing before having to dodge the missile.

"Good shooting, Kat!," she called. She grinned, then added, "We might make a decent pilot out of you yet."

"Frak you, Starbuck!," said Kat, laughing. "I'm better now than you'll ever be!"

Starbuck would have answered, but she was busy avoiding the fire from two more Cylon raiders which had made a strafing attack on her before darting away. Kat fell back into formation with Starbuck's Viper, and they set off in pursuit of the Cylons.

Meanwhile, Captain Shane Vansen was having her own problems. A Cylon was on her tail, and blue tracers flashed by her cockpit as she jinxed her Hammerhead hard to the left to avoid them.

"Fuck this!," she muttered to herself.

Then she grinned, and decided to try a very old trick. She pushed her stick forward to nose the Hammerhead into a dive, then pulled back on it hard, looping backward and ending up flying in the opposite direction and upside down. She deftly rolled her plane right side up again, and pressed a button on her joystick. Her Hammerhead vibrated as her deadly electro-magnetic railguns fired, and she watched as the pursuing Cylon exploded as the high-speed projectiles tore it apart.

"Ooorahh, Shane!," she heard Nathan West, her wingman, call out. West had, unfortunately, had to deal with attackers of his own, leaving Vansen momentarily vulnerable, but was returning now to his place at her wingtip. "Max Immelmann would have been proud!"

"Sometimes the old tricks are the best tricks," Vansen replied.

Suddenly West's voice changed, urgency filling his words. "Shane, break left!," he shouted.

Shane quickly rolled left and downward as a stream of tracers cut through the space where her plane had been.

"I've got him, Shane," she heard Vanessa Damphouse shout, and saw Damphouse's Hammerhead in close pursuit of the Cylon who had nearly cashed in her chips for her. Damphouse fired, and the Cylon was turned into a cloud of floating debris.

"OOORAHH!," Damphouse shouted and did a quick victory roll.

But Vansen didn't see her comrade's aerobatics. She was already too busy fighting again for her life, as more Cylons bore down on her.

As the 58th Squadron fought to stay alive nearby, Commodore Glen Ross, on the bridge of the U.S.S. SARATOGA, watched the battle with growing concern. The Cylons, it seemed, had developed some sort of shield technology which made their Basestars relatively impervious to enemy fire. On approach to the enemy formation, the carriers, battleships, and cruisers of the human fleet had fired a barrage of hundreds of Phalanx Missiles at the enemy vessels, which had assumed a box-like formation to mutually protect each other and to maximize the firepower of their own missile batteries. To Ross's dismay, most of these were intercepted and destroyed by the Cylon's own point-defense missiles, and most of the few which had survived that gauntlet had prematurely detonated against the Cylon shields. Those which had gotten through had caused significant damage to two of the Basestars, but Ross knew they couldn't afford to expend missiles like that for so little reward. And the Cylons had replied with a barrage of their own, so thick that none of the human vessels had gotten close enough to use its other, shorter-ranged weapons.

Off to starboard, there was a brilliant flash as one of the human ships exploded. Ross grimaced. The Brazilian battleship SAO PAULO had just joined the fleet recently and still had a green crew. _They won't get the chance to learn now,_ Ross thought to himself. Almost two thousand men and women had just died, converted to micro-particles in a fraction of a second by the explosion.

And the SAO PAULO was by no means the only human vessel which had already been lost. Off to port, a cloud of jagged metal marked the final remains of the carrier U.S.S. COLIN POWELL, and the cruisers HU CHENG, RAJPUT, and ANKARA had been converted into clouds of space debris as well.

"We've got to get in closer!," Ross heard Admiral Williams's voice shouting over the radio. "All units, advance!"

Over the radio, Ross heard the deep, distinctive voice of Captain Henry Whitehorse, commander of the battleship, U.S.S. CHARLES LACY VEACH. Whitehorse was Lakota, and accounted himself a relation of the famous Sioux War Chief, Crazy Horse. Ross's blood ran cold when he heard Whitehorse's words.

"Today is a good day to die!"


	23. Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

THE IOTIA HOROLOGII SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 1330 HOURS

Cole "Stinger" Taylor jerked the joystick of his Blackbird hard to the right, and then dove. As he did so, Cylon tracers reached out for him and missed, fired by one of nearly fifty Raiders which had been trying to corner and destroy he and his two comrades…Lieutenants Jason Hand and Wilson Wyatt…for nearly half an hour now. He had already destroyed several of them. He thanked the gods that the new Blackbirds, unlike the first one which Chief Tyrol had built, had been equipped with a full complement of weapons…two 30mm cannon and space-to-space missiles in two internal weapons bays…which gave them some teeth. The other two Blackbirds had come to his assistance as well, which had helped. But none of them had been able to break through the cordon of Cylon fighters and get to the Resurrection Ship.

Stinger was amazed that the Resurrection Ship was still here. Were the jump calculations taking this long? Or was there something else going on? Whatever it was, he thanked the gods for that too. As long as it was still here, there was a chance that the mission could still be completed. A Cylon Raider flashed across his path. Stinger pressed a button and fired a missile at it. The missile hit it dead-on, and Stinger had to bank hard to the left to avoid the cloud of metal fragments left by the explosion.

A Cylon point-defense missile, fired by one of the Basestars, flashed by off his starboard wing. Yet another thing he had to thank the gods for…there were a lot of those today, Stinger silently mused…was that the Cylons were having a hard time locking onto the Blackbirds with their point-defense missiles. The Basestars had fired quite a few of these at the Colonial craft, but none had successfully locked on. But he had no time to feel any exultation, as yet another Cylon had latched onto his tail, and it was all he could do to shake it off.

Meanwhile, in the control room of the Resurrection Ship, a copy of John Cavil stood before a console, his hand pressed against a data font, watching sensor data of the dogfight going on outside.

"Why?," he asked. "What could they hope to gain by sending three Vipers here?"[1] He frowned. "And what sort of Vipers are these? Why are our missiles having such difficulty locking onto them?"

Next to him, a Number Eight copy stood, her own hand pressed to a data font. She shook her head.

"I don't know," she said. "It is odd. Perhaps we should move the Resurrection Ship out of this system."

"If we do that," a Number Three copy standing at another console said, "we'll have to move out of Resurrection range of our assault force in the system containing the Tylium moon. We have not located another uninhabited system in this region of space to which it might be safe to jump."

"What of the enemy fleet which are engaged with our forces on the other side of this system?," a Number Four asked. "Are they not a threat?"

Cavil reflected on the situation. "We have sent three undamaged Basestars against them," he said, "plus most of the raiders carried by the two damaged Basestars which have remained here to protect this vessel. Our new shields are working well against them, and this force has successfully contained the intruders. If need be, one of the damaged Basestars has completed much of its self-repairs, and could be sent to assist them. We should try to remain here as long as we can."

"I am confident that the Raider squadrons we have dispatched against them will soon dispose of the three Vipers," a Number Two said. "There is no need for precipitate action."

"Agreed," said Number Five.

"Agreed," the others said as a consensus formed. Still, Cavil continued to watch the dogfight outside. Something was not right here. Of that he was sure. But what?

At that moment, on the other side of the system, Commander Lee Adama stood in the C.I.C. of the Battlestar PEGASUS, viewing the chaos of battle as it raged around his ship and the other ships of Task Force Bravo. Colonial Vipers and Earthling Hammerheads dueled with Cylon Raiders which outnumbered them by at least two-to-one. The point-defense batteries of the PEGASUS, and those of the human ships as well, did what they could to assist their beleaguered pilots by swatting the Raiders out of the sky whenever they came too near, but the Cylons continued to press their attack.

The three Basestars, which hovered in the distance out of effective range of the ship-killing gun batteries of the PEGASUS, looked slightly hazy, surrounded as they were with their plasma shields. They poured a deadly barrage of missiles onto the human ships, a barrage to which the humans had found it difficult to reply. The Cylon plasma shields had come as a rude shock to the Earthlings, and to Lee as well, who had never seen such a thing before. Very few of the missiles launched by the human fleet had penetrated those shields, but two of the Earthling vessels…a battleship and a cruiser…had already fallen victim to the Cylon missile barrage, and PEGASUS had also sustained damage. _This is not going according to plan_, Lee thought wryly.

He looked at his Communications Officer and former wife, Lieutenant Anastasia Dualla. "Any word from the Blackbirds?," he asked.

"No, Sir," Dualla said.

They both knew that, in the event of success, the Blackbird which completed the mission was to transmit a Code Word…KOBOL…to inform Task Force Bravo that the FTL drive of the Resurrection Ship had been disabled. At that moment, the PEGASUS was to home in on that signal and then perform a highly dangerous intra-system jump to that location, destroying the Resurrection Ship with its heavy guns before the Cylons could react.

What did the silence of the Blackbirds mean? Lee knew that there were two Basestars unaccounted for, which had failed to jump here to confront Task Force Bravo when it arrived. Had the Blackbirds been intercepted and destroyed before they could complete their mission?

"Keep your ears open, Dualla," he said. "Keep your ears wide open."

While Adama was admonishing his Communications Officer, Stinger was still fighting for his life. He fired his cannon, shouting with savage delight as another Cylon Raider disintegrated before him. Suddenly, he saw an opening in the screen of Cylon Raiders which stood between his Blackbird and the Resurrection Ship.

"Wyatt! Hand!," he said into the microphone on his helmet, sending a short-range, scrambled message to his comrades. "Cover me…I'm going in!"

Stinger kicked on his turbo boosters, and blue plasma flared as his Blackbird dashed forward toward the opening in the enemy formation. Wyatt and Hand roared after him, jointly shooting down a Cylon which tried to attach itself to Stinger's tail. Unfortunately for Hand, attending to his commander's safety caused him to neglect his own. A burst of Cylon cannon fire ripped through his Blackbird. He was vaporized in the brilliant flash which followed. Wyatt quickly suffered a similar fate.

But Stinger kept going, and to his amazement, soon found he was through the Cylon screen. He pressed the button to arm his missile, and then slipped into the ship's superstructure. He turned his DRADIS on active mode and located the FTL drive of the Cylon vessel. He locked his missile on target, and then, grinning with triumph, pressed the firing button.

Nothing happened.

"Frak!," he exclaimed in fear and frustration. "Frak, Frak, Frak!"

He pressed the button again, and a warning light, indicating the failure of the weapons bay door to open, flashed on his panel. "Now what?," he fumed, desperately seeking a solution to his dilemma.

Then a cold, determined look came over his face. "Well, do you want to live forever?," he asked himself wearily. But he already knew the answer.

He was rapidly approaching the location of the FTL Drive. He pressed the button for his long-range communications system, and said into his microphone, "KOBOL. I REPEAT. KOBOL." Then he turned the communications system off, pointed the nose of his Blackbird in the direction of the Resurrection Ship's FTL Drive, and calmly kicked his ship into Turbo Boost.

Aboard the PEGASUS, Lieutenant Dualla looked up at Lee Adama. "That was Stinger! Mission completed!"

"Prepare to jump!," Lee said to Lt. Commander Purvis, his Tactical Officer, who also managed the FTL drive computers.

"Aye, Sir!," Purvis said, his young face betraying the eagerness he felt. After just a few moments, he said, "Jump calculations completed!"

"Jump!," Lee said.

Lee and the rest of the crew of the PEGASUS felt a moment of dizziness as the ship entered, and almost immediately left, a wormhole. When they emerged, they were within easy visual range of the Resurrection Ship.

Lee smiled. What was it he had once heard the Earthling, Commodore Ross, say?

"Take it out of my sky, Mr. Purvis," he said.

Purvis, his face split by a predatory grin, exclaimed, "My pleasure, Sir!" Like a shark intent on its prey, the PEGASUS surged forward.

In the control center of the Resurrection Ship, chaos now reigned.

"I told you we should jump out of here!," Number Eight shouted at Cavil.

"We all agreed to remain," Cavil retorted.

"Frak you!," Number Eight shouted, drawing a pistol. She aimed it at Cavil, and fired point blank into his head. He dropped to the floor like a rock, eyes still open, but seeing nothing. The others stared at her, too shocked to react.

Not that they had much time.

[1] The Cylons don't know how the first Resurrection Ship was lost, and Cavil doesn't realize that these aren't just specially modified Vipers, but purpose-built stealth craft.


	24. Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE KAPPA RETICULI SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 1400 HOURS

The Earth/Colonial Fleet inexorably advanced on the formation of Cylon Basestars which floated in orbit above the Planet Ceres. The advance had been costly…one more carrier, the CLEMENCEAU, the battleships NELSON and YAMATO, and the cruisers INDIANAPOLIS, MURMANSK, and TEL AVIV had all been lost since Admiral Williams gave the order to advance. The closer they got, the more Cylon missiles found their marks, with often catastrophic results.

Aboard U.S.S. EISENHOWER, Admiral Harvey Williams looked at Lieutenant Marcus, his Communications Officer.

"Get me a secure channel to Chig High Command," he said. "I need to speak to them."

"Yes, Sir!," Marcus said. A few moments later, a video screen at Admiral Williams' command station came to life with an image of Elroy-El 588 and his two Chig "employers."

"Admiral Williams," Elroy said. "How can we be of service?"

"We are making a direct attack on the Cylon Basestars," Williams said. "If your forces can make a coordinated assault from the other side of the formation, we can overwhelm them with our combined firepower."

"We tried that before you got here," Elroy said. "We lost a great many vessels, and have withdrawn to a safer distance."

"But you still have a great many more, am I not correct?," Williams said. "Our sensors detect at least twelve of your capital ships still intact."

One of the Chigs spoke to Elroy. Elroy turned back to Williams and said, "Yes, that is true."

"If we can hit them at the same time, force them to divide their attention between us, we can beat them!," Williams said. "Will you assist?"

The Chig spoke to Elroy again in its unintelligible language. Elroy listened, and nodded before turning back to Williams.

"We will assist you," Elroy said.

The Chig raised one of its hands and spoke again, forcefully.

"He says, 'To Victory!'," Elroy said.

"To Victory!," Williams said, raising his own clenched fist. He nodded to Lieutenant Marcus, who terminated the communication. He looked at Lieutenant Simons, his Electronic Warfare Officer.

"Are they moving forward?," he asked.

"Yes, Sir!," Simons said, looking at his LIDAR screen. "The Chigs are moving toward the Cylon force."

"Now," Williams said, "let's give those bastards something to remember!"

Meanwhile, aboard U.S.S. SARATOGA, Commodore Glen Ross was almost shaken off his feet by the impact of another Cylon missile which got through the carrier's defenses and destroyed one of the forward Laser Cannon turrets.

"Steady as she goes," he said to his helmsman, Commander Julio Diaz, as he recovered himself.

"Aye, Sir!," Diaz replied.

Commander Fred Miner, the Tactical Officer, stood at his own console nearby. He smiled, and began to recite an old poem.

_"Cannon to right of them,_  
><em>Cannon to left of them,<em>  
><em>Cannon in front of them<em>  
><em>Volley'd and thunder'd;<em>  
><em>Storm'd at with shot and shell,<em>  
><em>Boldly they rode and well,<em>  
><em>Into the jaws of Death,<em>  
><em>Into the mouth of Hell<em>  
><em>Rode the six hundred."<em>

Ross looked at him and wryly raised an eyebrow. "Well, Commander, I hope this charge doesn't end up the way _that _one did."

Miner laughed. "No, Sir," he said. "But you've got to admit, it's a great poem."

Ross nodded. "That it is, Commander. But all too apt at the moment."

By now, the Cylon Basestars were getting quite close, and Miner said, "We're coming within optimal weapons range for our Kinetic Particle Weapon, Commodore," Miner said.

"It's about damned time!," Ross said. "Fire!"

The giant particle accelerator at the rear of the carrier hummed as the charged particles built within it. Then the particles were released at near-light-speed and surged down the long barrel of the weapon, which ran the length of the upper hull of the SARATOGA, and out of the twin muzzles of the weapon, lancing out in a luminescent blue beam toward the nearest Basestar. At almost the same moment, similar beams, aimed at the same Basestar, flashed from the muzzles of the KPWs mounted on the carriers JOHN F. KENNEDY and KIEV, the battleship CHARLES LACY VEACH, and the cruisers ATLANTA and KASHIMA.

The Basestar seemed to shudder with the impact, but its shields held. For a moment. And then, suddenly, they didn't anymore. The particle beams crashed into the Basestar itself, doing tremendous damage. One of its huge, star-like arms came loose and flew away, spinning like a boomerang, into space.

There was a huge cheer by the officers on the SARATOGA's bridge. "Recharge the KPW!," Ross ordered. "Open fire with Laser cannons and Phalanx Missiles!"

Ross watched as his other weapons begin ripping into the Basestar as well. With the Cylon shield gone, the SARATOGA's laser cannons and even the Phalanx missiles, which had proven nearly useless before, were doing huge damage to the enemy vessel. The other Earth vessels surrounding the Basestar also opened fire with their secondary weapons.

The Basestar fired back with salvo after salvo of missiles, and its Raider fighter craft desperately tried to strafe the Earth ships and fire missiles into them. At such close range, few of the Cylon missiles could possibly miss their marks, although the Earth vessels' Spartan point-defense missiles and KEWs, gunlike weapons which fired explosive shells or unguided rocket-propelled torpedoes, took most of them out before that happened. And the Hammerheads and Vipers defending the fleet continued to dogfight with the Raiders and held most of them at bay. Nevertheless, the cruiser ATLANTA exploded in a brilliant flash as the Cylon barrage took its toll, and the other vessels sustained serious, but not critical, damage.

But the Cylon vessel was, most certainly, taking the worst of it, and in the end, it could take no more. There was a huge explosion as the Basestar ceased to exist. The force of the blast flung huge fragments of jagged metal outward in all directions. One of these slammed into the SARATOGA, shaking the carrier like a toy boat in a very rough sea. But it was a glancing blow, and little permanent damage was done. Ross and the rest of the bridge crew breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Just then, off the SARATOGA's port bow, Ross saw another Basestar explode, victim of the GALACTICA's gun batteries. And, off in the distance where the Chigs were fighting, another brilliant flash marked a Basestar's demise.

"Okay, let's go get another one," Ross said grimly.

Aboard the U.S.S. CHARLES LACY VEACH, Captain Henry Whitehorse, a tall, distinguished looking man in his late fifties, with shoulder length, steel-gray hair which accented his Lakota features, felt his battleship shudder as another Cylon missile hit its mark. He heard the voice of Commander Charlie Hoover, his Chief Engineer, come through his headset. Desperation filled Hoover's voice.

"Captain! The main reactor's going critical. We can't stop it! She's gonna blow!"

"How long?," Whitehorse asked.

"Five, ten minutes, tops," Hoover said.

"Understood," Whitehorse said calmly. He turned to his Communications Officer, Lieutenant Carroll. "Shipwide announcement," he said. Carroll put him on shipwide intercom.

"All hands, this is Captain Whitehorse," he said. "Abandon ship. I repeat, abandon ship. This is not a drill." He looked at the other officers. "That means you, too. Go now."

Most of the officers quickly obeyed, but one remained. "But Captain!," Tactical Officer Hoshiro Suzuki said.

"That's an order, Lieutenant," Whitehorse said.

"Yes, Sir," Suzuki said. He reluctantly got up to leave.

"Before you go, transfer all control functions to my console," Whitehorse said.

Suzuki nodded solemnly, did as he was told, then asked, "Aren't you coming, Captain?"

Whitehorse smiled wanly. "Isn't there a rule of some kind that says the Captain always goes down with his ship?"

Suzuki smiled, came to attention, and saluted. "It's been an honor serving with you, Captain."

"And with you, Lieutenant," Whitehorse said, returning the salute.

He watched as Suzuki left the bridge, then turned his attention to his console. He had seen that, in the center of the Cylon formation, a single Basestar sat, relatively unengaged, protected by the others. He supposed it was the Cylon equivalent of a Command and Control ship. He set a collision course with that basestar, and locked the navigation controls. He watched as life pods and APCs took off, carrying his crew to what he hoped was safety. Then he sat back in his chair and watched as the Basestar loomed closer and closer.

Suddenly he grinned. What he was about to do was strictly against regulations, but regulations hardly mattered now, did they? He reached over to another button on his console, and the strains of Wagner's _Ride of the Valkyries _filled the bridge. He retrieved a pack of Marlboros and a lighter from his jacket pocket, and took one out. He lit it, took a long, deep drag, and then blew the smoke out slowly.

He smiled, took another drag on his cigarette, and watched as the Basestar rapidly filled his viewscreen. "Yes," he said as the music flowed over him. "It _is_ a good day to die."

Aboard that Cylon Basestar, John Cavil the Eldest watched, in his mind, a vision of the battle brought to him via a datastream from the ship's sensors. He saw one, then a second Basestar turned into space junk by the attacking human and Chig forces. He seethed with hate as he watched the GALACTICA chew up a third Basestar.

"The GALACTICA," he hissed, "We should have exterminated all of them. How could we have let them get away from us?"

There was a small flash as a Heavy Raider jumped into normal space next to his vessel. It flew into one of the hangar bays and then transmitted an urgent message to the command center. John's blood froze as he received it.

"We've got to get out of this system," he said suddenly. "The Resurrection Ship…it's been destroyed."

"Agreed!," the others said immediately.

The jump computer began making its calculations in preparation for their retreat. John returned to watching, in his mind, the images of the battle raging around the Basestar. And then he saw it…a huge human vessel, hurtling toward them, on a collision course with the Basestar. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to shout a warning. But he knew it was already too late. All he had time to say was...

"Frak."


	25. Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THE KAPPA RETICULI SYSTEM, 23 MAY 2064, 1600 HOURS

In the Kappa Reticuli Star System, peace had returned. In the space surrounding the planet Ceres, two fleets of space vessels…one human, one Chig…which had just fought together as allies against a common enemy, now regarded each other warily.

On the bridge of the U.S.S. EISENHOWER, Admiral Harvey Wilson, commanding the combined Earth/Colonial fleet, sat in his command chair pondering that implications of this situation. Would the temporary truce which had been forged between these erstwhile enemies hold? Could it be turned into a lasting peace? Or would the war between them resume? No easy answer came to him.

He smiled grimly as he recalled the events of the day so far. The combined forces of United Earth's Task Force Alpha and its erstwhile Chig adversaries had won a resounding victory here in the Kappa Reticuli System over the Cylon invasion fleet. Only two of the Cylon Basestars had escaped, and both of those had been severely damaged. Well over three thousand of their Raider fighter and attack craft had been destroyed. In the Battle of Iotia Horologii, fought by Task Force Bravo concurrently with the clash here at Kappa Reticuli, the Cylons' all-important Resurrection Ship had been destroyed, as well as another two Basestars, one by the Battlestar PEGASUS and another by the Earth component of the task force, before the other three in that system had managed to jump away to safety following the destruction of the Resurrection Ship. Admiral Adama had informed Williams that this represented the greatest defeat the Cylons had ever suffered in the entire history of their conflict with humanity.

But the cost in human blood had been very heavy. Three carriers, seven battleships, and nine cruisers had been lost. Williams looked at his computer screen where the casualty lists were displayed and read the names of the lost ships…the carriers COLIN POWELL, CLEMENSEAU, and DREADNOUGHT; battleships SAO PAULO, NELSON, VITTORIO VENETO, YAMATO, GRAF SPEE, ALEXANDER NEVSKI, and CHARLES LACY VEACH; and cruisers HU CHENG, RAJPUT, ANKARA, ROMMEL, INDIANAPOLIS, ATLANTA, MURMANSK, TEL AVIV, COLBERT, and ROSSIYA. Of the lost vessels, only the battleship CHARLES LACY VEACH had had time to evacuate more than a small portion of its crew prior to its destruction. All of the surviving ships had been damaged to one degree or another, most of them severely, and of course, more lives had been lost there. Several hundred pilots and planes had also been lost. All told, over 30,000 men and women from the two Earth/Colonial Task Forces had given their lives for the victory. The toll the Chigs had paid was unknown, but was likely as heavy, if not moreso.

But the fighting was over, and now, human and Chig eyed each other with suspicion. Old hatreds did not die easily. Williams had asked Admiral Adama to send a Raptor to the Iotia Horologii System with orders to Admiral Putin to remain in that system pending further orders. The last thing Williams wanted was for the Chigs to interpret the arrival of another task force of human war vessels as an act of aggression. Putin had replied a few minutes ago with an acknowledgement of those orders, as well as a report of his own battle.

Williams was also wrestling with another issue. In doing as he had done and providing a truce and military assistance to the Chigs in the Kappa Reticuli system, he knew he had exceeded his own authority by a rather significant margin. He knew, that as commander-on-the-spot, he was expected to show initiative in unexpected situations, and he had certainly done that. But he had to wonder how his actions would be received, when word of them got back to Earth. He knew that his actions had given Earth an unprecedented, and possibly unique, opportunity to end the destructive war with the Chigs, which had now been raging for over a year, and which was still raging in other star systems across this region of the Milky Way Galaxy. If he waited for Earth to be informed of what had happened here, and for representatives of the United Nations to arrive to formally undertake negotiations, the opportunity might well be lost. But if he acted without the approval of his government, would that government recognize any agreement he managed to achieve? Or would he end up court-martialed, and likely in military prison, as a result?

Williams desperately wished that instant radio communication between distant star systems was possible. But he knew that wishing was a useless activity. He smiled again as he thought of one of the pearls of wisdom bequeathed to him by his Texan grandmother: "Wish in one hand, and shit in the other, and see which gets full faster." Yes, wishes were rarely fulfilled.

Indeed, Williams thought, the current communications system was probably the best that was possible, at least for the foreseeable future. When the network of wormholes connecting various star systems in this sector of the galaxy had been discovered, it had also been discovered that, while the intervals between the times when a wormhole opened wide enough for matter to pass through it were relatively infrequent…ranging from about a week to a few decades in some cases…the intervals when it was possible to transmit a signal through the wormhole were much more frequent. Indeed, this happened approximately once every two days on average, with some wormholes opening more frequently and some less. The government of Earth had installed communications satellites in those star systems claimed by humanity which were served by more than one wormhole, which received the signals which arrived through one wormhole and transmitted them into another wormhole when it opened at a later time.

For example, the Procyon System was served by two wormholes, one of which connected it to Sirius. The Sirius System was, in turn served by three wormholes, one of which connected it to the Groombridge 34 System. To get a signal from Procyon to Groombridge, one transmitted the signal to Sirius first, where the satellite in that star system received the transmission from Procyon, and then transmitted it to Groombridge 34 approximately ten days later (give or take a day…wormholes opened somewhat erratically) when that wormhole opened. So a signal from Procyon, assuming everything went as it should, would be received at Groombridge 34 in about ten days. On the other hand, a signal from Earth to Groombridge 34, which was connected directly to Earth by a wormhole, would arrive within minutes of being transmitted (however, the wormhole between Earth and Groombridge 34 only opened once every twenty-four hours, on average, for signal transmission, so you'd have to wait up to twenty-four hours for a reply from Groombridge to get back to Earth).

Besides the long delays imposed on communications, depending on how many "stops" the signal had to make while waiting to be transferred to a satellite in another star system before it reached its destination, the communications system was also vulnerable to attack and espionage. Indeed, communications to at least four star systems had been disrupted for several weeks when the Chigs destroyed a satellite at Tau Ceti the previous year, and Chig monitoring devices had been discovered on other Earth satellites during the course of the war.

Imperfect as the system was, it was literally light years ahead of the alternative. Without it, the only option would be transmitting radio messages at light speed over interstellar distances, which would take years, decades, or even centuries to be received at their destinations. So it was no surprise that the Chigs utilized a very similar system serving the star systems under their control.

But the fact that the interstellar communications system was the best that could probably be hoped for did not reduce its inherent disadvantages. A message sent by radio from Kappa Reticuli to Earth would take at least two weeks to receive. Williams knew that a courier vessel, such as a Colonial Raptor equipped with FTL jump engines, could get back to Groombridge 34 in less than three days, and the message could be transmitted to Earth from there within twenty-four hours after that. But this could be done only at the cost of using up precious Tylium, which was in short supply and which Williams had been ordered to conserve at all hazards (the fact that Task Force Alpha was now in orbit above a planet whose moon contained the only known Tylium reserves in this entire sector of the galaxy…reserves which were under control of the Chigs…just rubbed salt in the proverbial wound). There were just no good options here.

And so, it was he who would, in the final analysis, have to make the decision on how to proceed. He already knew what he was probably going to do, but he needed more information before making his final decision.

The door to the elevator which gave access to the Bridge opened, and Howard Sewell stepped inside.

"Admiral Williams," he said, "I understand you've asked to see me."

"Yes, Mr. Sewell," Williams said. He stood up and gestured toward a door on the rear wall of the bridge. "Please join me in my Ready Room."

"Certainly, Admiral," Sewell said as he followed Williams off the bridge.

Inside the Ready Room…a small room which allowed the Admiral to work in privacy when required…was a desk with a computer terminal on top and comfortable leather chair behind it, in which Williams sat down. He gestured to a smaller, less comfortable chair in front of the desk. "Please have a seat," he said.

"What was it you wished to discuss, Admiral?," Sewell said upon being seated.

"Mr. Sewell," Williams said, "you are the closest thing to a representative of the government of Earth which we have with us aboard this fleet. You are a long-time associate of Secretary General Hayden and work closely with her. Although you officially, at least, hold no government post, perhaps you can give me some guidance on the likely reaction of the government, and Secretary Hayden in particular, to what we are about to do here."

"About to do here, Admiral?," Sewell asked.

"Mr. Sewell," Williams replied, "you gave us the Chig frequency which allowed us to successfully communicate with them. For that, I thank you. But as was discussed in that meeting, our purpose in communicating with the Chigs was not only to deal the Cylons a crippling blow, but also to open up the possibility of peace between mankind and the Chigs."

"Yes, Admiral," Sewell said, nodding. "I do recall."

"Mr. Sewell, I'm going to be straight with you, and I want you to be straight with me," Williams said, leaning forward to look the Aerotech man straight in the eye. "I don't think we can wait to open negotiations with the Chigs for the termination of the war, pending the arrival here of representatives of the government."

"I see," Sewell said noncommittally. "And you intend to act on your own authority."

"Yes," Williams said. "Mr. Sewell, based on certain things you said in the meeting this morning, I have reason to believe that there is information which may cause embarrassment to certain powerful members of the Aerotech Corporation, and possibly to Secretary General Hayden herself, if it should become public knowledge as a result of negotiations with the Chigs. Am I correct in that assumption?"

Sewell shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking down at the floor. He didn't reply.

"I'd like an answer, Mr. Sewell," Williams said firmly. "Indeed, I demand one. You've already divulged top secret information by giving us the Chig frequency. If you cooperate, I give you my word of honor that I will use all my influence…which is considerable…to see that you are not censured or prosecuted for your actions. But I need answers. As they say, in for a penny, in for a pound."

Sewell just laughed. "You have no idea what you're dealing with here, Admiral," he said. "You can't protect me. You can't even protect yourself." He suddenly looked miserable. "I wish I could help you, Admiral, I really and truly do. I want peace as much as you do. But I've done all I can do for you. I can't reveal anything more."

Williams sighed. "All right, Mr. Sewell. As much as I might wish that these were the old days when I could have you flogged or keelhauled for being uncooperative, those days are gone. The only thing I can do is throw you in the brig, and I can't see that would make much difference." He sat back in his chair. "If you won't answer that question, perhaps you can answer this one. Are there any specific terms which you feel Secretary General Hayden would demand, or immediately reject?"

Sewell thought about it. "I think the Secretary General would demand the return of all human prisoners," he said. "I think that she'd demand that our claims to the Tellus and Vesta colonies be pressed, and that reparations for the massacres there be received."

Williams winced at that. He thought the Chigs might agree to the first, but would almost certainly reject the second and third of those conditions.

"As for terms she'd reject," Sewell said, "I can't think of any she'd reject out of hand, barring a demand for surrender, of course. But I think she'd fight tooth and nail for every concession we could get from them."

"Do you think she'd be flexible on any of the conditions you said she would demand?," Williams asked.

"The Secretary General did not get where she is by being inflexible," Sewell said, smiling. "Diane has a backbone of steel, but it's been known to bend when the situation demands it."

Williams' eyes widened a bit at Sewell's casual use of the Secretary General's first name. _But, _he thought, _that just shows that I was right about him. _

"Alright, then," Admiral Williams said. "That helps me. Thank you, Mr. Sewell."

"You're welcome," Sewell said, standing up. "Am I free to go now?"

"Yes," the Admiral replied. He watched as Sewell left the room. He picked up a telephone from a holder set into the top of his desk.

"Lieutenant Marcus," he said, "I need to speak to Chig High Command."


	26. Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Excerpt from _Hostile Visit: A History of the Chig War_, by Col. Tyrus C. McQueen, U.S.M.C. (Retired). New York: Houghton-Mifflin, 2078.

Following the victory at the Battle of Kappa Reticuli, the truce between humanity and the Chigs was extended to all theaters of the war, pending the outcome of the peace negotiations. Within two weeks, all fighting between human and Chig had ceased, and negotiations for a permanent end to the conflict were well underway.

If any one man can take credit for the achievement of peace with the Chigs, it would have to be Admiral Harvey Williams, U.S.N.

Admiral Williams took advantage of the communications lag-time between Earth and the Kappa Reticuli star system to act, without interference by the government or higher command, to lay the groundwork for successful negotiations with the Chigs. He extended this lag-time by strictly interpreting his orders to "conserve Tylium at all hazards" and not sending a courier back to the Groombridge 34 star system to utilize the direct wormhole link from that system to Earth. Thus, he was able to negotiate with the Chigs, without interference, for nearly three weeks. This proved to be sufficient time to lay the groundwork for the ultimate achievement of peace.

By the time a delegation of representatives from the United Nations arrived to take over the negotiations, a draft treaty had already been worked out. This draft treaty would, with minor modifications, be ratified by both the United Nations and the Chig Imperium (as the Chig government later came to be known) during 2065. The terms of the treaty as they finally developed were, to say the least, unexpected.

The Chigs agreed to release all human prisoners and repatriate them to human territory. In exchange, the humans agreed that no human would ever trespass in the Zeta Reticuli System, the home system of the Chig race, which was to be declared strictly off limits to human space vessels. All contact between the two species would be conducted on worlds outside that system. The Chigs never provided an explanation for this odd demand, but the demand was agreed to by the Earth negotiators. The Chigs, in turn, were faithful to their word, and all human prisoners were released within a month after the ratification of the treaty.[1]

During the course of the negotiations, it became known that the Chigs originated on a world with a methane atmosphere, and that worlds with oxygen atmospheres were inimical to their form of life. They had traditionally exploited those worlds only with difficulty, through the use of domed settlements and environmental suits…and later, Silicate and captured human workers. Humans, on the other hand, had found that worlds with methane atmospheres actually significantly outnumbered those with oxygen atmospheres, and, like the Chigs, had been forced to resort to the use of domed settlements and environmental suits…and Silicates and In-Vitros…to exploit them.

Admiral Williams suggested that the differing biologies of humans and Chigs actually complemented each other, and proposed an arrangement in which the Chigs would have sovereignty over planets and moons with Methane atmospheres, and humans over those with oxygen atmospheres. The two species could then engage in trade for resources which were scarce on the worlds held by one, but plentiful on the worlds held by the other. The Chigs agreed in principle, but demanded that worlds which had already been settled by one species or another must remain under the sovereignty of that species, regardless of what sort of atmosphere said world had. This would include the Tellus and Vesta colonies, which were in the possession of the Chigs. Admiral Williams and his negotiating team agreed to these terms, and this agreement became the basis of the treaty.

The Chigs agreed to trade Tylium for certain rare elements which were in short supply in systems under Chig control, but were plentiful in the Sol System, Helium 3 among them. As it turned out, this arrangement would not be necessary for long…in 2067, a survey expedition in the Alpha Centauri System would discover large reserves of Tylium in an asteroid field there, giving Earth its own supply source for this exceedingly rare mineral.

Admiral Williams took these actions knowing that he was, in all likelihood, sacrificing his career in so doing. But, in the end, he didn't have to make that sacrifice. Williams and his co-negotiators, Kobolian Admiral William Adama, Admiral Mikhail Putin, Admiral Harold Rathbone, and Commodore Glen Ross, met with representatives of the Chig government for the first time on 26 May 2064. At this meeting, the Chig representatives revealed the fact that they had been in contact with the Aerotech Corporation prior to the attack on the Tellus and Vesta Colonies. They had warned Aerotech that these planets were claimed by the Chigs, that any human intrusion would be met with deadly force. Aerotech had ignored these warnings and proceeded with their colonization plans, thus setting in motion the train of events which led to the destruction of the colonies and the outbreak of war between the two races.

After that meeting, Admiral Williams confronted Howard Sewell, a Deputy Director of Operations of the Aerotech Corporation who was present with the Earth Fleet during the Kappa Reticuli expedition, with this information. Sewell carefully neither confirmed nor denied the charges made by the Chigs. Williams took this as a tacit admission of the truth of the charges, and asked the Chigs if they could provide evidence to support them. The Chigs were able to provide a record of their communications with Aerotech, including Aerotech's reply back to their original message. Later on, when it seemed he was about to be court-martialed for gross insubordination and actions taken outside the purview of his orders, Williams used the information about Aerotech's involvement to persuade the Secretary General of the United Nations, Diane Hayden (who was herself a high-ranking officer within the Aerotech Corporation) to have the charges dismissed. He eventually retired from the service in 2072, and is now serving as Vice President of Marketing with Kobol Industries.

Of course, the information regarding the involvement of Aerotech in the outbreak of the Chig War did not remain secret. Shortly after the retirement of Admiral Williams from the military, his home office was burglarized and the files containing the recordings of the exchange of messages between the Chigs and Aerotech were stolen. Some questioned at the time how a man of Williams' experience could have been so careless as to leave the recordings in a file cabinet in his own home, a question to which the Admiral has never responded.[2] Be that as it may, however, the recordings were subsequently released to the media, and a storm of controversy resulted.

Aerotech and the government initially disputed the authenticity of the recordings, but Deputy Director of Operations Howard Sewell broke with the other officers of the Corporation[3] and publicly confirmed that the recordings represented a true and accurate record of the contact between Earth and the Chigs. The controversy, which became known as the "Chig Recordings Scandal," shook Aerotech to its foundations. Most of the upper management was forced to resign in disgrace. U.N. Secretary General Diane Hayden was forced to resign from office as well. She and several of the highest-ranking former officers of Aerotech, who became known popularly known in the media as the "Aerotech Gang of Four," were later tried and imprisoned.

Howard Sewell, however, was not one of these. He was appointed as the new Chief Executive Officer of Aerotech, and was granted immunity from prosecution in exchange for his testimony against Hayden and the other members of the "Aerotech Gang of Four."

Aerotech never fully recovered from the Chig Recordings Scandal. In the aftermath of the affair, its stock fell sharply on world exchanges. This was exacerbated when, the following year, the United Nations and the various governments of Earth acted to break the monopoly which Aerotech exercised on the development and production of space technology. This allowed competitors from many countries to compete in an open marketplace for the first time in over two decades. Kobol Industries, founded by Kobolian refugees from the Twelve Colonies, quickly emerged as a major competitor of Aerotech, as did several other firms. Under Sewell's leadership, Aerotech survived, but became just one of several large firms in a highly competitive industry. In the opinion of this writer, this has been all to the good. The Earth Defense Forces now receive better equipment, at a lower cost, than ever before.

[1] The Chig demand was made, of course, because the moon which would be revealed, in the final episodes of _Space: Above and Beyond_, to be the holy birthing ground of the Chig race, known as "Anvil" to the humans, was in the Zeta Reticuli System.

[2] Actually, Williams decided to secretly release the tapes and the "burglary" was his cover story.

[3] Admiral Williams, in gratitude for Sewell's assistance during the Kappa Reticuli expedition, had interceded to see that Sewell was not fired from Aerotech and that no charges were brought against him for revealing the existence of the Chig frequency. However, Sewell found himself ostracized by Aerotech upper management and barred from promotion within the company. Over the years, resentment over the rather obvious "glass ceiling" grew, and led him to reveal the full truth during the Chig Recordings Scandal.

_AUTHOR'S NOTE_

_This is the end of Part One of the story, and of those segments of the story which I had written before joining this community. The Earth-Cylon War will form the main subject matter of Part Two, which I will begin posting shortly as segments are completed._


	27. Chapter 27

THE FARTHEST ONES FROM HOME

PART TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THE COLONY, SOMEWHERE IN DEEP SPACE BEYOND THE CIMTAR ARMISTICE LINE, 25 JUNE 2064 (DAY 562 OF THE EXODUS)

John Cavil stood at a computer console in the sterile, white room in the central core of The Colony where the Cylon Council normally met, his hand pressed to a data font as he uploaded reports of the twin battles in Sector 41107 which had proven so disastrous and destructive to Cylon life. This particular John Cavil was not the one who had formerly occupied this position on the Council. That John Cavil...the very first John Cavil ever to know life, the progenitor of all the Number Ones who were to come...was dead now, permanently killed at the Battle of the Kappa Reticuli Star System. News of this calamity had just recently come in via the Cylon communications relay network from Sector 41107, where the battle had taken place. It had taken nearly a month for a Cylon Heavy Raider, bearing the news, to reach the relay station nearest to that sector in order to transmit the news of the disaster.

Cavil knew that the Cylon Communication Relay System was a marvel of technology which allowed messages to be transmitted over distances of thousands of light-years nearly instantaneously. Exploiting the same technology used in the FTL jump engines, the relay stations created micro-wormholes through which messages were transmitted from station to station within the system. Placed within, say, fifty light years from each other, the stations provided a reliable and extremely rapid way for communications of all kind to reach their destinations. But the relays were difficult to construct, and required Tylium in order to run the engines which opened the wormholes which made them possible. Therefore, they were difficult to maintain without a constant resupply of Tylium, and as the Cylon pursuit of the Colonial refugees had progressed farther and farther from known Tylium supplies, the Cylons had opted not to expand their communciations system beyond a certain range of those supplies.

"Hmmm," he said softly to himself. "That is a problem which must be rectified without delay."

"Of what problem do you speak?," asked Number Six, an attractive blonde female standing at a nearby console who went by many names when she lived among humans (this particular model called herself Sonja). At the moment she was the only other member of the Council present.

"Relays connecting Sector 41107 with our own must be installed," Cavil replied.

"Agreed," Number Six replied in turn. "Our forces operating in that Sector are cut off from the rest of the community. It is a dangerous situation. As our Progenitor discovered."

"The Progenitor was reckless," Cavil mused aloud as he reviewed the reports from thousands of Cylons who had survived and returned from the battles. "He knew there was a real possibility that the Colonial Fleet had found refuge with the Thirteenth Tribe. He should have searched Sector 41107 until he found them."

Number Six frowned. "Yet his decision to secure the Tylium was not illogical," she said. "Our operations in that sector are greatly hampered by the lack of a secure source of Tylium in that region of space. How could he know that the humans would join with their enemies against us?"

Cavil sighed. "That is true," he said finally. "I just find it difficult to believe in luck, or to think that the disaster was God's Will. Therefore, I must conclude that error was to blame."

"No, it cannot have been God's Will," Number Six said with certainty.

Cavil suppressed a smirk. Like his progenitor, he did not believe God truly existed. But God was a useful device in prodding the others to see his point of view.

As he did so, the other members of the Cylon Council came into the room, taking places at their own computer consoles and placing their hands down onto the wet plates through which the data font transferred information directly from the computer into their minds.

"You're early," the attractive female model known as Number Three, who called herself D'Anna, said, smiling. "Your predecessor was never early."

Cavil smiled. "There are many things in which I differ from our progenitor," he replied.

"So we see" said Number Two, who often went by the name of Loeben Conoy.

"Well, let us get down to business, shall we," Number Four, the black male who called himself Simon, said. "What shall we do about the humans?"

"Clearly the humans of Earth, if indeed that is who we now face, possess technology which is nearly equal to our own," Number Five, who called himself Aaron Doral, said.

"And the size of the battle fleet they deployed in the two battles was disturbing," said Number Eight, the attractive Asian-appearing female who called herself Sharon. "We ourselves have never deployed a fleet approaching that size. Indeed, the twelve Basestars which we deployed in these battles was the largest task force we've deployed since the destruction of the Twelve Colonies."[1]

"That is something that will be remedied," Cavil said firmly. "Now that we know where the Colonial Fleet has gone, we can concentrate our forces in that sector of the galaxy."

"It will take some time to do that," Simon observed. "The Galaxy is a big place, and our forces are quite scattered."

Cavil frowned. "I know," he said. "And, as I was telling Sonja before you arrived here, we must also extend our communications network into Sector 41107. It is simply too dangerous to operate there without communications. To support that, and our operations in that Sector in general, we must establish Tylium supply depots in systems near that sector of space. So the time it will take to gather in our forces can be well used, laying the groundwork for our campaign."

"Agreed," the others said.

"We will not go in unprepared again," Cavil said. "We will prepare ourselves fully, and then hit them hard, and end this war, once and for all."

"That all sounds well and good, John," D'Anna objected, "but we still don't know where Earth is. Sector 41107 may not be as large as the galaxy, but it's still a big place."

"Yes," said Aaron Doral. "We must find Earth. And we must get infiltrators among its population. We need to know what sort of place it is, and what weaknesses the Thirteenth Tribe may have which we can exploit to our advantage."

"Agreed," the others said in unison.

"Yes," Cavil replied. "The Thirteenth Tribe is an unknown factor in our equation which was not accounted for in our Plan. We must learn of them. And we will."

"What about the Chigs?," Loeben asked. "They present a threat to us as well, and yet another factor which was not accounted for in our Plan. That intelligent, non-human life could exist never occurred to us. What shall we do about them?"

"Exterminate them," Cavil said icily. "They are even more repugnant than the humans. The universe must be made safe for Cylon life. Cylon life is the only true life. Everything else is an abomination before God."

There was a long moment of silence as the others considered Cavil's words. Then, one by one, they replied with, "Agreed." Inwardly, Cavil smiled again. _The others are such fools to allow themselves to be manipulated so, _he thought to himself. _Yes, God is an effective tool, and the Progenitor taught us to wield it well. _

But not everyone was as easily manipulated as Cavil thought. As she listened, Sharon carefully concealed her true thoughts. She was, unknown to Cavil and the others, one of the few survivors of Cavil's purge of the Cylon Peace Movement which had been carried out the previous year, following the discovery of the murder of the Cylon peace emissary by the humans. She had hoped that, with John the Progenitor gone, his successor as leader of the Number One faction among the Cylons would see that this war of extermination against the humans was wrong, that it could not be the will of the loving God in which the Cylons professed to believe, and move to end it. But, she could see, that was not going to happen. This Cavil seemed as determined, if not more-so, than the Elder to carry the war to its conclusion. And now, he was expanding his genocidal plans to include the Chigs, as well.

_Surely, the Chigs must be God's Children as well,_ she thought to herself miserably. _If we murder them all, and the humans too, will God ever forgive us? Can such a sin ever be erased?_ She doubted it could. No, if Cavil carried out his plans, the Cylon race would lose its collective soul. Somehow, she had to find a way to stop it.

As she secretly fretted, she noticed Cavil watching her. _I've got to be careful. He's suspicious,_ she thought to herself. _He knows, but he doesn't have the proof yet. _She smiled at him, and he smiled back. _Well, frak him,_ she thought. _He's got to be stopped. Before we destroy the humans...and ourselves._

[1] In the series itself, we never see more than perhaps five Basestars in action in one place.


	28. Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

JOHN GLENN SPACEPORT, THE GROOMBRIDGE 34 SYSTEM, 27 JUNE 2064

Aboard the John Glenn Spaceport in orbit around the planet Groombridge 34-2, Tory Foster looked around the conference room in which she, with the other final five Cylons of Terra, awaited the arrival of the human officials with whom they were to meet today. _Gray walls, black conference table and matching black chairs_, she thought to herself. _The Earthlings have rather boring tastes, at least so far as conference room décor goes. _ She was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of the door opening.

"Hello!," President Laura Roslin said to Tory, smiling, as she walked into the room, followed by Secretary General Diane Hayden of the Earth government, General Wewick, and Admiral Adama.

Tory smiled, and said "Hello, Laura! It's good to see you again." The humans took seats on one side of the table, facing the four Cylons.

"Let's get started," Secretary General Hayden said. "First of all, I want to thank the four of you for your assistance in upgrading the FTL engines which were salvaged from the Colonial fleet, and for your insights in helping our engineers design a new engine to be deployed in the remainder of our current fleet, and on all future vessels. Your assistance with the design of a firewall program to block out attempts by the Cylons to hack into our computers is also greatly appreciated."

"It was our pleasure," Saul Tigh said. "Thank you, and President Roslin, for allowing me and the others to resume our jobs and our lives again." the other Cylons nodded. "Indeed, that is why we've asked for this meeting," Tigh added.

"Madame Secretary General, the war with the Chigs has been concluded with a peace treaty," Galen Tyrol said. "But your war with the Cylons, who destroyed the Colonies of Kobol, and who pose a threat much greater than the Chigs ever were to your sector of the galaxy, is just about to begin."

"With their Resurrection Technology, unless you can get lucky like you did at Kappa Reticuli," Ellen Tigh said, "the Cylons will just rebuild their forces over and over and keep coming back. Against such a foe, there is no permanent victory."

"But we know how you can win this war," Tory Foster said, a grim smile on her face. Again, the others nodded.

"How?," Hayden asked.

"We are the designers of the Resurrection technology," Saul Tigh said. "We know how it works. And the whole system is amazingly vulnerable."

"Basically," Samuel Anders said, "the Resurrection Ships depend on a central facility…we call it the Resurrection Hub…to provide them with data needed to perform resurrections. The amount of data needed to perform the resurrection of a humanoid Cylon is so great that there is no way that it could be all stored in one computer system, even one with as much storage capacity as the systems aboard a Resurrection Ship. The remainder of the data needed is stored by the Resurrection Hub, from which the Resurrection Ship downloads said data when needed. In order to do that, the Resurrection Ship must maintain a constant communication link with the Resurrection Hub at all times."

"Then how did the Resurrection Ship resurrect the Cylon raiders which it sent back into battle at Kappa Reticuli and Iotia Horologii," Hayden asked, confused.

"The Resurrection of a Raider, or a Cylon Centurion, is much simpler than the Resurrection of a humanoid Cylon," Anders replied. "They do not possess the level of sentience which humanoid Cylons possess. Their brains are far less sophisticated than ours. And so, much less data is required in order to resurrect them. Such data as is required can be temporarily stored aboard the Resurrection Ship itself during a long-range mission, although it is not recommended because even that much can overload the memory banks of the Resurrection Ship and possibly cause a shutdown of the Resurrection process. So it is imperative that the excess data be re-downloaded into the Resurrection Hub as soon as possible after the completion of the mission."

"I see," Hayden said, nodding.

"Obviously," said Saul Tigh, "if the Hub can be found and destroyed, the Cylons would be deprived of their ability to resurrect. Any Cylon who was killed in battle could never return."

"But if it's destroyed, won't the Cylons just build another?," President Roslin asked.

"They can't," Ellen Tigh said. "The Resurrection technology was our technology, brought from Terra. Our unfortunate offspring don't know how to reproduce it, without our help. This is the same reason why they don't have more than a few Resurrection Ships. Those vessels rely on components we designed, and which cannot be replicated."

"How do we find the Resurrection Hub?," General Wewick asked.

"That won't be easy," Tory Foster said. "The Hub jumps from system to system on a random basis so it can't be located easily."

"But we designed the program which determines, on a random basis, to which star the Hub should jump," Chief Tyrol said. He smiled. "And since we know how that program works, we think we can design a program to calculate where the hub should be, at any given time. At the very least, it should be able to provide predictions which narrow the possibilities down to a manageable number."

Admiral Adama grinned at Tyrol. "That's good, Chief," he said. "That's very good."

"But if we attack, won't the Hub just jump away to safety?," Secretary General Hayden asked.

Adama looked at General Wewick. "Looks like we need some more Blackbirds," he said.

"I concur, Admiral," Wewick said. "See to their construction at once."

Adama laughed. "If I know my son, General," Adama said, "it's already underway."


	29. Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

AEROTECH HEADQUARTERS, NEWPORT NEWS, VIRGINIA, 30 JUNE 2064

Howard Sewell, who had just returned to Earth this very day from the Kappa Reticuli Star System, sipped a cup of hot coffee as he sat waiting in a conference room at the Aerotech headquarters building in Newport News, Virginia. Unlike the Spartan décor of conference rooms at the John Glenn Spaceport or aboard the warships of the Earth Defense Force, this one was welcoming…painted in a cheerful, very pale yellow, the walls decorated with several abstract paintings, with comfortable, well-padded leather chairs around a massive walnut table. But despite the cheerful surroundings, Sewell was not a happy man. As he sipped his coffee, he reflected back on the reasons for this meeting.

The twin battles of Kappa Reticuli and Iotia Horologii had been great victories for Earth and its allies, but the losses incurred in achieving that victory had been extreme. _What was it that King Pyrrhus of Epirus said?_, he mused. _"Another such victory and I am ruined."_He frowned. He shuddered to think what might have happened had the Earth/Colonial fleet encountered the Cylons alone, without the assistance of the Chigs. While the victory over the Cylons had been costly, it had not been Pyrrhic…or at least not quite. But it had been damned close. And it could have been much, much worse.

"Those damned shields," he muttered to himself. "We've got to do something about them, or the next encounter may be a disaster."

And that was the reason he had called this conference. Sewell knew that only Aerotech, of all the corporations on Earth, was capable of dealing with this threat. He would soon be joined by four of the greatest scientific minds on Earth…all employed by Aerotech, of course… to set that process in motion.

There was a knock at the door. Sewell called, "Enter!," and the door opened. The four scientists he had called to this meeting…Dr. Wilhelm von Schliessen, Dr. Yamigata Taro, Dr. Jeanne Stephenson, and Dr. Nicholai Andropov…filed into the room and, after stopping at the nearby buffet table to grab from a platter full of Krispy Kreme donuts and coffee, took their seats around the table.

"Krispy Kreme!," Dr. Stephenson, a middle-aged American woman with graying blonde hair and blue eyes, said as she took her seat. She brushed a bit of powdered sugar off her black business dress. "We're honored! You usually get those awful grocery store donuts." She took a bite of her donut.

Sewell laughed. "Well, sometimes even I get in the mood for a _good_donut, and since Krispy Kreme acquired Dunkin Donuts, they're the only game left in town."

"Ah, yes, Dunkin Donuts," Dr. Schliessen, a tall man with a balding head of brown hair and a thin mustache, conservatively dressed in a blue pinstripe business suit, said. "I remember them well. What has it been, ten years now that they've been kaput?"

"About that," Sewell said. He took a bite from his own donut, a chocolate glazed cake version.

"Well," Dr. Stephenson said, "I don't think you called us all here to discuss donuts."

"No, indeed," Sewell said, smiling. "Thank you for clearing your schedules to meet with me this morning."

"Your email sounded urgent," Dr. Andropov, a short, stout man with black hair and eyes and wearing a white lab coat, said in his heavily-Russian-accented English. "So of course I came at once. And, I must admit, I am curious as to exactly what is so urgent that you would call us together on such short notice." The others nodded in agreement.

Sewell nodded. "It is indeed urgent, possibly as urgent as anything else we've ever discussed before," he said. "All the people of Earth know of the Battles of Kappa Reticuli and Iotia Horologii is that they were victories for our forces, and have resulted in the signing of a peace accord with the Chigs. But that's all they know."

"I take it there's more to the story than has been released," Dr. Yamigata, a short Japanese-American man with steel-gray hair, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and, like Dr. Andropov, a white lab coat, said, picking up a glazed donut and taking a bite out of it.

"Yes," Sewell said, the smile leaving his face. "What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room. It will be publicly released, but Secretary General Hayden is of the opinion that the time is not yet right. Am I clear?"

"Yes," the others said, one after another.

Sewell nodded. "Then let me fill you in," he said. "Upon arriving at the Kappa Reticuli System, our forces discovered that the Chigs were already under attack, by the Cylons. After weighing which of the two represented the greatest threat to Earth, Admiral Williams decided to offer the Chigs a truce, and the assistance of our forces, against the Cylons. The Chigs accepted the offer, and our forces fought beside them, against the Cylons."

The other scientists could not have been any more shocked if Sewell had jabbed them with a cattle prod.

"Ach so!," Dr. Schliessen said. "_That_is how a peace treaty was so quickly concluded."

"There's more," Sewell said. "The Cylons have developed a way to shield their ships and provide them with much greater resistance to weapons fire than our own vessels enjoy. The only way to successfully engage them was to close to within almost point-blank range and overwhelm them with the fire of several ships, firing their KPWs simultaneously. We and the Chigs both took extreme casualties."

"What sort of shields?," Dr. Yamigata asked.

"Plasma shields," Sewell said.

"But, we abandoned that technology years ago as impractical," Dr. Stephenson objected.

"Yes," Dr. Andropov said, shaking his head in disbelief. "The cold plasma which forms the shield superheats rapidly when exposed to sustained weapons fire. Anyone inside a ship so protected would be incinerated within a short time. We were never able to find a way to counteract that effect."

"You're saying that the Cylons have developed a means to overcome that problem," Dr. Schliessen said.

"Yes," Sewell said. "It appears they have, and quite successfully."

"Was any data on how these shields worked recovered?," Dr. Yamigata asked. "Some working examples would be nice," he added, grinning.

"Unfortunately, the Cylon vessels which were destroyed were pretty much completely destroyed," Sewell said. "Bits and pieces of Cylon technology were recovered from the wreckage, but it was all severely damaged and will likely be fairly useless." He sighed. "But we did get some good sensor data which should prove helpful in developing our own version of the technology."

"Gut, sehr gut," Dr. von Schliessen said. "That will give us a place to start."

"Will we have the assistance of any Colonial scientists?," Dr Yamigata asked. "Especially the five Cylons who were so helpful in upgrading our FTL drives? Their knowledge of Cylon technology could be very useful."

"I'll see what I can do," Sewell said. "From what I understand, they're involved in a highly important project of their own right now. But there you have it. I'm assigning the four of you to develop our own plasma shields. Of if you can find a superior alternative, do that. You have my authorization to requisition any resources, whether in materiel or in personnel, that you might need. This is to be your top priority. Clear?"

"Yes," the others replied.

"Okay," Sewell said. "Let's get to work."


	30. Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

PHOENIX, ARIZONA, 1 JULY 2064 (DAY 568 OF THE EXODUS)

Gaius Baltar woke up in his motel room, in a somewhat rundown former Howard Johnson's on Grand Avenue in Phoenix, Arizona. The bed was lumpy, and the room smelled of cigarette smoke and disinfectant. There were several unidentifiable stains on the floor…one looked like it could have been a large blood stain, something which Baltar did not care to dwell on…and other unidentifiable stains on the bed linens. But, for right now, this place, such as it was, was home.

When the Colonial refugees had been allowed to settle on Earth, most had gone to Canada to take part in the building of the new Kobolian settlement, New Caprica, which was, even now, rising amid the wilderness of northern Saskatchewan. But those who chose not to be part of that project, and who had the financial resources to do so, were allowed to go their separate ways and make their homes where they saw fit. Baltar had been one of those. His financial resources were not large, but he did have a small cache of Kobolian gold and silver coin which he had sold off, via what the Earthlings called the "internet," for a significant profit. But the resources thus gained were not unlimited, and so he was husbanding them, trying to make them last as long as possible, while he looked for work of some kind.

He had thought that he'd be a prize who would be eagerly scooped up by some leading firm in the technology field…Aerotech, perhaps. But for some reason which he couldn't fathom, he was still unemployed.

In his mind, he could see the beautiful blonde Cylon known as Number Six, lying naked on the bed beside him. He could feel his manhood rising as he looked at her, taking in the sight of her supple breasts, the curve of her hips, the dark patch which concealed her most intimate parts, and the legs which seemed to go on forever. "Oh, you know why," she said into his ear. "Roslin never liked you. She suspects you of treason, you know. She poisoned the Earthlings against you."

"No," Baltar said, "I committed no treason."

The Cylon laughed derisively. "Didn't you?," she said. "Don't fool yourself. You have the blood of millions…no, billions…on your hands."

Baltar sat quickly up in bed, burying his face in his hands. "NO!," he shouted. "Leave me alone!"

His Cylon tormenter just laughed louder. "You can't be free of me," she said. Then she slipped down, reaching beneath the sheets and taking his manhood in her hand, gently stroking it. "Besides, you don't _really_ want me to go, do you?" She pulled the sheets down, and then her head lowered.

"Oh, God, no," Baltar sighed. "Please don't go."

The Cylon stopped what she was doing briefly and looked up at him. "Don't blaspheme," she said, before resuming. Baltar couldn't help but groan. And then, a loud knock on the door shattered the vision, and Baltar found himself, sitting in the bed, with his own hand wrapped around…

He quickly removed the hand, and pulled the sheet around him. Getting up, he went to the door and looked out of the peephole. A delivery man stood there, dressed in the brown uniform of the United Parcel Service. He opened the door a crack.

"Yes?," he asked.

"Gaius Baltar?," the man asked.

"Yes, I am Gaius Baltar," he said.

"I have a package for you," the delivery man said. He held up an electronic pad. "I'll need your signature."

"One moment, please," Baltar said, shutting the door. He quickly put on the jeans and tee-shirt he had cast off the night before, and opened the door again. He signed the electronic pad, and the delivery man handed him an overnight envelope, printed in bright red.

"Thank you," Baltar said. The delivery man nodded, and walked away. Baltar closed the door, looking at the address label on the package.

"Aerotech," he muttered to himself. He ripped the package open. Inside was a letter. He sat down on the bed and began to read.

**Aerotech Aviation and Space Technology, Inc. **

**679 Warwick Landing Parkway**

**Newport News, VA 23608**

_30 June 2064_

_Dr. Gaius Baltar_

_3400 Grand Avenue_

_Suite 203_

_Phoenix, AZ 85017_

_Dear Dr. Baltar:_

_We are pleased to extend you an offer of employment with Aerotech, the world's leader in space and aviation technology. If you choose to accept this offer, please contact us as soon as possible to arrange an appointment for your orientation and pre-employment screenings. You may call us at 757-555-9267 to make your appointment. _

_Sincerely yours,_

_Carrie Raymond_

_Human Resource Department_

_Aerotech, Inc. _

"So, they've hired you after all," he could hear the beautiful Cylon say from behind him. He felt her sidling up to him, slipping her arms around him and kissing him gently on the neck. "I told you that God still had plans for you."

He turned to her, and their lips met. He could feel her tongue darting into his mouth, dueling with his own for domination. He broke free.

"And what would those plans be?," he asked.

"All in good time," the Cylon whispered in his ear, then gently licked along the edge of his earlobes. "God reveals his plans in his own time." He felt her hand stroking up and down his back. Then she pulled away, and knelt on the floor in front of him.

"We have some unfinished business," she said, grinning impishly. This time, there was no knock at the door to disturb them.


	31. Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA, 4 JULY 2064

Captain Shane Vansen was home, on the first visit to Earth she'd had since the beginning of the Chig War. She and the other members of the 58th Squadron had been granted furlough following the return of the United Earth Forces fleet to the Sol System, and now she was back in her home town of San Diego, soaking up some sun on the beach. At the moment she was clad in a decidedly unmilitary teal thong bikini swimsuit whose color complemented that of her lovely auburn hair, as well as displaying plenty of flesh and accenting the curves of her well-toned body. She noticed men…young and old, attractive and not so…watching her with interest as she walked down the beach. She smiled slightly. _One thing you can say for Marine Corps physical training_, she mused silently to herself. _It does produce a body that doesn't make you ashamed to be seen in a bikini. _

Beside her walked Captain Kara Thrace, who had also been granted furlough from the GALACTICA, clad in a slightly more modest, but no less unmilitary, one-piece maroon bathing suit. Like Vansen, she was the object of stares and the occasional wolf whistle as she walked down the beach. She turned to Vansen.

"It's beautiful here," she said. "Your world kind of reminds me of Picon. It has about the same proportion of land to water as Picon had. And the beaches are similar. Picon was a bit colder, though."

Vansen smiled. "Yes, I think it's beautiful, too. I'm a California girl, born and bred. I love the Pacific coast. I wouldn't live anywhere but here."

"I can understand," Thrace said, nodding. Then her face darkened. "I'm sorry that your family…"

"Don't worry about it," Vansen said, interrupting her. "I knew they wouldn't roll out the red carpet for me. They didn't even turn out when I was deployed at the beginning of the war, knowing that I might never come home again. Screw them."

"Still, it must hurt like a motherfrakker," Thrace said. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here."

"I appreciate that," Vansen said, "but really, I'm all right." Then, changing the subject, she asked, "How did you like your tour of San Diego yesterday?"

Thrace's face brightened again, and she smiled broadly. "It was great!," she exclaimed. "But there is something I wanted to ask you about…I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," Vansen replied. "Ask away!"

"Are you a religious person?," Thrace asked.

"Well, yeah, kinda," Vansen said. "I was raised to be a good Catholic, but I haven't been to church in a long time. But I do believe in God."

"That's what I wanted to ask you about," Thrace said. "You say you believe in God, but which god? Zeus? Athena? Hera? Apollo?" She grinned. "There are quite a few of them. Who is this 'Jesus Christ' whose name I see on many of your temples?"

Vansen smiled. "That's right," she said, nodding, "I had heard that your people were polytheists," she said. "I can understand why you'd be confused."

"You mean, your people AREN'T polytheists?," Thrace asked, shock filling her voice. "You mean you don't worship the Lords of Kobol?"

They came upon a small bar on the beach, serving cold drinks. Vansen smiled and said, "Let's sit down and get out of the sun for a bit. Heavy subjects call for refreshment."

They sat down at one of the tables on the sandy beach, underneath a large umbrella with the "Cintas" logo on it. A waiter came and took their order…Rum and Coke for Thrace, and a Margarita for Vansen…and then returned with their drinks. Vansen sipped hers and smiled.

"Ooooh, that's good," she said. "I haven't had one of these since before the war." She looked over at Thrace, then set her drink down. "Now, to answer your question," she said. "No, we don't worship the Lords of Kobol. From what I've seen of your faith, it resembles the religion which was practiced by the ancient Greeks, about 2,000 years ago and before. Many peoples at that time worshipped similar pantheons. The gods and goddesses had different names from one culture to the next, of course. But looking at them now, knowing what I know of your faith, I can see now that all those faiths were somehow memories passed down from the time when mankind lived on Kobol."

"If you don't worship the Lords of Kobol anymore, then which gods do you worship?," Thrace asked.

"Well, there are many religions here on Earth. There are still some polytheists, for example in India," she said. "But for myself and most people in this part of the planet, we worship one God."

"What is his name?," Thrace asked. "Is it 'Jesus Christ'?"

"That's complicated," Vansen said, laughing softly. "We believe there is only one God, whose name is something like 'Jehoveh' or 'Yahweh,'" she said. "Nobody knows exactly how it is supposed to be pronounced, because the name is so holy that it is a sin to speak it. Generally we just refer to Him as God, or as The Lord. But mankind fell so far into sin that God sent His only son to Earth, to live as a human and to die for our sins, and thus provide us with a means for salvation through His Grace. This was Jesus, who became known as 'The Christ' because of his sacrifice."

"But if your God had a Son," Thrace said, "then you have two Gods, don't you?"

"Three, actually," Vansen said, laughing again. "There is another being called 'The Holy Ghost' or the 'Holy Spirit,' who is worshipped along with The Father and The Son as part of a group we call The Trinity."

"So you have three Gods," Thrace said.

"No, only one," Vansen said mischievously.

"Wait," Thrace said, shaking her head helplessly. "Now you're confusing me."

"Jesus was Son of God," Vansen explained, "but in actuality was a manifestation of God Himself, come to Earth to save mankind from its own wickedness. The Holy Spirit, like Jesus, is simply another manifestation of God. So there are Three, but they are One."

"I understand…I think," Thrace said.

Vansen laughed louder than ever. "Don't feel bad," she said. "The Trinity has been confusing the greatest religious scholars on Earth…not to mention poor dumb saps like you and me…for over 2,000 years. We used to murder each other by the thousands over differing interpretations of it. Thankfully we…mostly…don't do that anymore."

"I see," Thrace said. She was still trying to take it all in. The religion Vansen was describing…minus the whole Jesus thing…was quite similar to that which the Cylons were known to follow, and also similar to that of the Monads, a monotheist fringe cult which had been based on Gemenon before the Fall of the Colonies. Here on Earth, it appeared, the equivalent of the Monads was not a fringe movement, but the dominant faith of much of the population. Then Thrace snapped out of her reverie as Vansen spoke again.

"Bear in mind, that the faith I've just told you of is but one of many practiced on Earth," Vansen was saying. "It is called Christianity, and is the faith that I, myself, follow. There are two other major monotheistic faiths, called Judaism and Islam. They worship the same God, but Judaism and Islam do not accept that Jesus was the Son of God. Within Christianity itself, there are dozens, if not hundreds, of differing interpretations followed by different churches. I belong to the Catholic Church, which is one of the largest of these, but there are many, many others. And this is not to mention all the other religions which are not related to Christianity in any way and which worship completely different gods." She smiled again. "And there are a great many people who do not believe in God at all. We call them atheists."

"Yes, there are many…atheists…among us as well," Thrace said. "Or there used to be, before the Fall of the Colonies. Given the central role that the Scrolls of Pythia played in finding Earth, and other discoveries made during our flight, those people are far fewer among us than they used to be."

Just then, they heard the voice of Cooper Hawkes, who had also opted to take furlough in San Diego, calling to them. They looked and saw him standing a short distance away along the shoreline, bare-chested and wearing a black spandex swim trunk. Thrace admired his well-built body and his handsome, boyish face.

"Shane!," he called. "Captain Thrace! Would you mind if I joined you?"

"Come on over, Coop," Vansen said, smiling. Hawkes trotted over to their table. They could see he was carrying a plastic shopping bag.

"I got you something," he said, sitting down next to Vansen.

"Oh, Coop, you shouldn't have," Vansen said. Vansen had known for some time…at least since Christmas last year, and probably before…that Hawkes was attracted to her. But as an In-Vitro, he'd never picked up any social skills and his abortive "passes" had been abject and humiliating failures. But he kept trying. Vansen found his child-like innocence about so many things to be somewhat charming, and she had grown quite fond of him over the past several months. She smiled as he opened the bag and held up a blue glass dolphin, suspended from a gold string.

"I figured you could hang this over your bunk," he said, "and it would remind you of here." He looked out over the ocean briefly, then back into Vansen's eyes.

"Thank you, Coop!," Vansen said, taking the trinket from Hawkes. "It's beautiful! I love dolphins!" She leaned over and kissed Hawkes on the cheek.

Hawke's smile was so big, it looked like his face was about to split right in half. Then his face assumed a more serious cast. Looking deep into her eyes, he said, "Shane, would you…would you have dinner with me tonight?" He looked quickly at Thrace, then back at Vansen. "Alone?"

Thrace grinned. "He's so sweet!," she said. "If you don't take him out to dinner, I will!" No sure how to react, Hawkes just looked at her, his eyes open wide. Fortunately for him, Vansen soon spoke.

"I'd love to, Coop," she said, smiling.

"Great! I'll pick you up at the hotel at 6:00," Hawkes said quickly.

"I'll see you then, Coop," Vansen said. She leaned over and kissed him again on the cheek.

Hawkes grinned like a Cheshire cat, then quickly got up and rushed away, afraid that if he hung around, Shane might change her mind. They watched him go. Thrace laughed softly.

"That boy has it bad for you," she said.

"I know," Vansen said. "He's a good man." She looked at Thrace. "I told you about the In-Vitros," she continued. "He's only really been alive for what, six or seven years? In so many ways, he's still a child."

Thrace was still watching Hawkes as he walked away from them. "Well," she said, "Maybe that's something you can take care of." She looked over at Vansen and winked, a wicked grin on her face.

Vansen blushed, but smiled. "Hmmm," she said, "maybe so. We'll see." She took another sip of her Margarita. "We'll see."


	32. Chapter 32

NEW CAPRICA, 16 JULY 2064 (DAY 584 OF THE EXODUS)

Tory Foster sat in the small office…a converted bedroom, actually, where she had a desk, a computer, and a small library of books she had purchased since her arrival here on Earth…in her home at the growing settlement of New Caprica, in the forests of northern Saskatchewan, in Canada. Tory had only been here in New Caprica for a few days, having just been allowed some leave from the secret project she was working on at the headquarters of Aerotech in Virginia.

So far the new Kobolian settlement of New Caprica was little more than a collection of what the Earthlings called "mobile homes," prefabricated housing on wheels, which had been brought to this remote location as soon as basic infrastructure, such as roads, electricity, water, and a rudimentary sewage disposal system utilizing something the Earthlings called "septic tanks," had allowed this to be accomplished. Apartment complexes to serve as permanent housing for the Colonial refugees were under construction, and it was hoped would be completed before the harsh Canadian winter set in. Tory shivered involuntarily as she thought about that…she had heard that snow drifts taller than a man were commonplace here in winter, something she had never experienced back home on the original Caprica.

_Back home, _Tory thought to herself. _No, this is home now. _She remembered all too well the extreme overcrowding aboard the fleet, where just about everyone…even relatively important people like herself…had been forced to share quarters with someone else. _It's nice to have a place to call my own again, even if it is just a box on wheels._

She looked out of the window underneath which her desk sat. The land around the new settlement was strikingly beautiful. New Caprica sat on the rocky western shore of Reindeer Lake. The area was covered in dense green forests. From her window she could see the lake itself. The sun was rising, and the vista it presented as its dawn rays reflected on the clear water of the lake was simply stunning.

One would have thought that such a lovely sight would have lifted her spirits, but such was not the case. For Tory Foster was tormented by a secret to which, to the best of her knowledge, only three people in the entire fleet…herself, President Laura Roslin, and Dr. Sherman Cottle…were privy. These three alone, so far as she was aware, knew that the hybrid human/Cylon child of the Cylon called Sharon Agathon had not died at birth, as Sharon and the baby's father, Karl Agathon, had been told. Instead, the baby had been taken and given to a mother whose own baby had recently died, and that woman, named Maya, was now raising the Agathon baby as her own daughter, under the name of Isis. Sharon had been devastated by the "news" of her baby's "death," but she had continued to loyally serve the Colonial cause out of love for her husband, Karl.

At the time, Tory had been convinced by Roslin's argument that the baby's safety required the deception, to protect it from any Cylon infiltrators who might still be undiscovered among the fleet, and also ensured that the child would be raised as a human, and not infected with Cylon values. But since the genetic tests administered by the Earthlings had rooted out all the Cylon infiltrators in the fleet, Tory had begun to question the wisdom of continuing the deception. And in light of the fact of her own origins as a Cylon of Terra, whose own race had begun as a result of a similar mating between a human and a Cylon, right here on Earth, all those millennia ago, she felt a certain kinship to this child. It was simply wrong to keep the child separated from its real mother. But what could she do about it?

Whatever it was, she would have to be very careful about it. She had brought up the subject with President Roslin, who remained convinced that what had been done was the only way. When that failed, she considered secretly visiting Sharon or Karl and telling them directly. But she had decided that was too risky. If they were seen together, once Sharon confronted Laura about the theft of her child, Laura would know where she got the information.

She began typing on the keyboard of her Earthling-made computer. Since her arrival here on Earth, she had learned a great deal about the Earthling computers and the networks on which they operated. She had learned many "tricks" to hide one's identity on what the humans called "the internet," the global computer network which linked the Earthlings together and allowed instant communications via email or even face-to-face video conferencing. Now, she decided to use these tricks to set right a horrible wrong.

She had spent much of the night setting up a secure email account, with what she considered sufficient safeguards set up to ensure that anyone trying to follow her trail through cyberspace was thrown off. And she had no doubt that _somebody_ was watching her. President Roslin and the Earthlings had given her back her life as a Kobolian, but she knew they still didn't entirely trust her. _Well, that's okay, _she thought to herself. _I don't entirely trust them, either. Not after what they did to me. _

Looking over her preparations one last time, she nodded. She was as ready as she was going to be. Opening up her email program, she sent a message to Sharon Agathon. It contained just four words.

_Your baby is alive._

She wished she could have been more direct, but the longer the message, the longer she was online using the email system, the more chance that someone who might be watching her would intercept the message. _I hope it's enough, _she thought to herself, _and she doesn't just dismiss it as a sick joke._

After sending the message, she immediately disconnected from the internet, and purged the message from her history files, as well as all record of the email account from which the message had been sent. Then she sat back in her chair and sighed. She knew she had done the right thing. Then a Mona-Lisaesque smile came over her face. _And besides, _she mused, _I owe Laura some small payback for the hell I went through on that Earthling vessel. John was primarily to blame, but Laura's hands were not clean. _Her smile broadened. _I hope Sharon gives her hell. _


	33. Chapter 33

NEW CAPRICA, 17 JULY 2064 (DAY 585 OF THE EXODUS)

Sharon Agathon didn't get a lot of email. That was because she didn't have a lot of friends, even now, after months working closely with the personnel aboard the Battlestar GALACTICA as a trusted member of the Colonial military. Although she had cast her lot with the survivors of the Twelve Colonies, and had saved all of their lives on more than one occasion since joining the Colonial fleet, it was a fact that when all too many of the Colonial refugees looked at her, what they saw was not a friend, or a comrade, but a Cylon…someone who had tried to exterminate the human race, and someone who could not be trusted.

And so, she had been more than mildly surprised to hear the cheerful "You've got mail" audio message when, shortly after rising from bed this morning, she turned on her computer. Now she sat, her face a mask of rage, staring at her computer screen, her eyes fixed on the anonymous, four-word email which had been the first thing to greet her when she turned her computer on this morning.

"Try to stay calm, Sharon," her husband, Karl Agathon said as he stood beside her, looking over her shoulder at the message on the screen. "We don't know who sent that message, or whether it's anything but a hoax." He gently rubbed her shoulders.

Sharon felt some of the tension relax out of her as he massaged her. "I know, Karl," she said softly. "But what if it's true? Do you know what that means? Do you?"

Karl stopped massaging and pulled his own office chair over next to her. Sitting down, he sighed deeply. "Yes, I do," he said, frowning. "And by all the gods, there is a part of me that hopes it isn't true…even though I'd give anything, even own life, to know that our baby was alive and well. Because if it is true, that means that the President of the Twelve Colonies stole our baby from us."

"Do you think Admiral Adama knows about this?," Sharon asked as tears started to roll down her cheeks.

Karl hugged her. "We don't know that this is true, baby," he said.

Sharon shrugged off his embrace and stood up, fury rising within her. "We've got to find out!," she yelled. She burst into tears, wailing with anguish.

Karl stood up and took her in his arms. "We will, baby," he said. "We will. We'll go and see Dr. Cottle," he said. "If this happened, he has to know about it. And if there is a conspiracy here, he'll be the weak link in the chain."

Sharon brushed her tears away, and nodded. "Yes," she said. "Dr. Cottle. Let's go see him."

A few hours later, the Agathons stood outside the door of Dr. Sherman Cottle's office aboard the GALACTICA, which was in orbit around the Earth undergoing repairs. Karl pressed the intercom button.

"Yes?," they heard Cottle's gruff voice say.

"Dr. Cottle, it's Karl and Sharon Agathon," Karl said. "I know we don't have an appointment, but can we come in?"

"Certainly!," they heard Cottle reply. With a soft hiss, the door slid open, and they stepped inside. Cottle was seated at his desk, reviewing medical reports. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke…Cottle was a chain-smoker. He stubbed out the cigarette he was currently smoking and rose from his seat, smiling.

"Karl, Sharon, this is an unexpected pleasure! Please, sit down," he said, pointing to two comfortable-looking chairs in front of his desk.

"Thank you for seeing us, Dr. Cottle," Sharon said.

"It's really no problem," he said. "With most of the crew down on Earth, I don't have a lot to do right now. Some company would be welcome."

"Well," Karl said, "I'm not so sure how welcome we'll be after you hear the reason for our visit."

Cottle's bushy gray eyebrows jumped skyward with surprise. "Oh, really? Is everything all right?"

"We don't know," Sharon said. "But we're hoping you can tell us."

"Tell you what?," Cottle asked.

"Is our baby alive?," Sharon asked, looking intently into Cottle's eyes.

"Why would you ask that?," Cottle exclaimed. "You know that's not possible. Your baby was stillborn." Karl and Sharon heard the slightest hint of nervousness in his voice.

"We have received information…where we got it is not important…that says otherwise," Karl said. He leaned forward, looking deep into Cottle's eyes. "Doc, you've got to tell us the truth. Is our baby alive? Was our baby stolen from us?"

Cottle started to speak, but Sharon cut him off. "The truth, Doctor," she said, her voice dangerous. "No more lies."

Cottle remained silent for several long moments, looking down at his desk, unable to meet their gaze. Then he sighed deeply, and looked into their eyes.

"Yes, your baby is alive," he said.

Sharon stood up. "Where is she?," she shrieked. "What have you done with my baby!" She started to fling herself at Cottle, but Karl caught her and held her tight.

"She's been well-cared-for," Cottle said quickly. "And loved. I promise you that. She's not lacked for love."

"Who has her?," Karl asked, still restraining Sharon.

"She was given to a young woman…her name was Maya Bronson…who had lost her own baby, to raise as her own," Cottle said.[1] "This woman considers the child a gift from the gods, and she dotes on the child and showers her with love and affection. By now the child has bonded with her and to take her away would be traumatic to both of them."

"I want her back!," Sharon screamed. "I want her back now!"

"Doc," Karl said, trying to remain calm. "We appreciate the fact that this woman, whoever she is, has provided a good home for our child. But she should never have been taken from us. You've got to help us get her back."

Cottle looked at them sadly. "I know," he said. "And I will." He stood up. "But this has got to be done properly. All the paperwork indicates that the baby belongs to Maya Bronson. As much as you might want to, you can't just go charging into this young woman's home and snatch the baby out of her arms. And we've got to make sure that President Roslin is on board with this, too. We'll go together to see President Roslin first thing tomorrow morning."

Karl offered his hand, and Cottle took it. "Thanks, Doc," he said.

In Karl's arms, Sharon seethed with rage. _Frak Laura Roslin_, she thought to herself. _Frakking bitch stole my baby! And I'm going to get my baby back whether that bitch agrees or not. And she better not get in my way. _But she forced a smile.

"Yes," she said. "We'll see President Roslin tomorrow. Thank you, Doctor."

_No, she better not get in my way, _Sharon thought to herself. _Because I swear to God, I'll kill her if she does. _

[1]Maya's actual surname was never given in the series as broadcast.


	34. Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

NEW CAPRICA, 17 JULY 2064 (DAY 585 OF THE EXODUS)

There was a saying among the Earthlings…"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." Petty Officer Second Class Callandra Tyrol, nee Henderson, commonly known as "Cally" to her shipmates and friends aboard the GALACTICA, certainly knew the truth of that saying. As she drove her car…a hydrogen-burning vehicle of Earthling manufacture… down one of the dirt roads which served the Kobolian settlement of New Caprica, she thought back over the events which had brought her to this time and place.

Cally Tyrol hated Cylons with a fury which sometimes frightened even herself. Like all the survivors of the Twelve Colonies, she certainly had enough reason to hate Cylons, having lost her entire family and almost all of her friends during the Cylon holocaust. But Cally's hatred of Cylons burned deeper than it did in most. It was a hatred borne of pain, and worse, of rejection.

Cally, a diminutive, plain-looking, woman with short brown hair, had, even before the Fall of the Colonies, been in love with Chief Galen Tyrol, her supervisor aboard the Battlestar GALACTICA. She had watched with anguish as he ignored her, carrying on an affair with a pretty pilot, Sharon "Boomer" Valerii. But despite his rejection of her, she loved him so much that she had covered for him as he carried on his secret trysts with Valerii.

Then after Boomer shot Admiral Adama in the chest on Day 51 of the Exodus, revealing herself to be a Cylon infiltrator, Chief Tyrol had been arrested and accused of being a Cylon himself. The injustice of this had led Cally to shoot Boomer to death two days later. She had suffered confinement in the GALACTICA's brig for that. If, however, she had thought that this act would bring she and the Chief together, she had been wrong. Instead Chief Tyrol's anger over Boomer's death had driven a wedge between them that had been months in healing.

It had healed. They worked closely together on the first Blackbird, and the Chief had put his anger aside.

_But still, _she thought bitterly to herself, _he pined for that Cylon bitch._ When Karl "Helo" Agathon had returned to the GALACTICA, bringing with him another copy of Sharon Valerii…a copy pregnant with Agathon's child…Chief Tyrol had nearly come to blows with Helo over the Cylon. And he had continued to ignore Cally.

But Cally had continued to offer him her friendship, the only affection that Tyrol seemed willing to accept from her. As a friend, Cally had gone to the Chief on the night of day 269 of the Exodus, when he was having a nightmare, and the Chief, still consumed by his own demons, had attacked her. He had beaten her savagely, knocking her unconscious and breaking her jaw in the process, before coming to his senses. Shocked at what he had done, he had carried Cally in his arms to sick bay, where, during her recovery, she had revealed her feelings for him.

And to her surprise, he had returned them. They had been married a couple of months later, and for nearly two months after that, she had basked in the bliss of Chief Tyrol's love.

Then they had encountered the Earthlings, and her world had come crashing down. Chief Tyrol was revealed to be a Cylon himself, to Cally's utter shock and disgust. And worse yet, Tyrol's new knowledge of his own past had led him to reject Cally once again and renew his relationship with Tory Foster, who had been his lover while they still lived on Terra.

Cally had wanted to strike back at the Chief, and his Cylon lover, but she had been unable to bring herself to do it. She still loved him, despite everything. But her hatred of Cylons had only deepened, and, unable to bring herself to act against the source of that hatred, she had instead transferred it to the only other available target…Sharon Valerii, who since her arrival on GALACTICA had married Karl Agathon and become a commissioned officer in the Colonial Fleet with the trust of Admiral Adama himself! Cally shook her head bitterly as she thought of that. _You can't trust frakking Cylons, _she thought to herself. _Adama is a fool._

She had, ever since Agathon had brought Valerii onto the ship, kept a close, but discrete eye on the Cylon. But since the rupture of her marriage to Galen Tyrol following the revelation of his true nature, her watchfulness had become an obsession. She had been on the hangar deck when the Raptor from Earth had arrived, carrying Helo and his Cylon bride. She had followed them to Dr. Cottle's office, and had listened outside, her ear pressed to the metal door, to their confrontation with the physician. She had overheard when Cottle admitted that the hybrid Cylon-Human child of Agathon and Valerii had not died, as had been reported, but had been stolen and hidden instead. And more importantly, she had heard WHERE the child had been hidden.

Cally knew that a rotation of Raptor flights carried personnel to and from Earth on a regular basis, allowing GALACTICA crew members the opportunity to take part in the settlement at New Caprica. Slipping away from Cottle's office, she had feigned illness to get herself excused from duty and then boarded the next Raptor for Earth. As it happened, it was the same Raptor which carried Karl and Sharon Agathon back to New Caprica, accompanied by Dr. Cottle. When the Raptor landed, Karl and Sharon had returned to their own home with Cottle, awaiting their appointment with President Roslin the next morning. Cally had gone to her own home, but only long enough to retrieve her car…and a few other items.

"Frakking Cylon bitch," she hissed as she approached one of the mobile homes which formed the Kobolian community. "Frak you and your Cylon-lover husband, too." She smiled slightly. The home was one of the more isolated ones in the community, which would make what she was about to do much easier.

She drove past the house, then pulled her car off the road and into a clump of trees, where it would be concealed both from the house and from the road itself. She looked quickly to her right and left, up and down the road. Seeing nobody nearby, she walked briskly to the gate in the white picket fence which surrounded the home, opened it, and stepped inside the yard. Moving rapidly to the door, she reached in her pocket and produced a lock-pick. It took her less than a minute…a minute that felt like an eternity…to open the lock and slip inside. It was dark inside…the owner of the home was away at work, and had not yet returned…and as her eyes adjusted to the light, Cally reached into a pocket of her coveralls and pulled out a small handgun, of Earthling manufacture. Reaching into another pocket, she pulled out a cylindrical object, which she screwed onto the muzzle of her pistol.

She smiled, again, grimly this time. Although Canada, where she lived currently, had somewhat stringent gun laws, the neighboring United States did not. She had visited a gun shop in Montana and purchased the pistol and silencer there shortly after their arrival on Earth, thinking to use it on her estranged husband and his lover. But she had been unable to bring herself to do it. Now, it would prove useful for another purpose. She hid herself in the closet in the master bedroom, waiting for the arrival of the homeowner.

After what seemed like an eternity in the darkness of the closet, but was in reality less than half an hour, Cally heard the front door of the mobile home open, and then the crying of a baby.

"Hush, Isis," she heard Maya Bronson say, and then she heard footsteps approaching the master bedroom. "Are you wet again?"

Cally peeked out of a crack in the closet door and saw Maya set the baby down on the end of her bed, then retrieve a disposable diaper from a package sitting on her dresser. The baby continued to cry, and Maya spoke to it soothingly as she undid and removed the child's pajamas, then removed and disposed of the soiled diaper, applying powder to the child's bottom before putting on a fresh diaper. This seemed to console the child, who ceased squalling and began to coo contentedly at her "mother's" voice and touch.

It was then that Cally pushed open the closet door, and stepped out into the bedroom. Maya spun to face her.

"Who…Cally, what are you doing there?," she exclaimed. Then she saw the pistol in Cally's hand. A look of horror on her face, she whimpered, "Cally…"

Cally's hand quivered slightly as she aimed the pistol at Maya's chest. Cally and Maya were friends, and on her off-hours, Cally had sometimes helped Maya with the children at the Colonial daycare where Maya was a teacher. She had often cared for Maya's child, Isis, not knowing that the child was a half-Cylon abomination. She didn't want to kill her friend. But she knew that Maya would not allow her to harm the child. She had to die.

Tears rolled down Cally's cheek as she said, "I'm sorry, Maya," and squeezed the trigger. The pistol coughed three times. Maya staggered backward as the bullets ripped into her chest. Then suddenly, she collapsed to the hardwood floor. Cally watched as a crimson pool of blood began to spread beneath Maya's corpse.

Oddly enough, the baby was still quietly cooing on the bed when it was all over. Cally stepped over to the bed, and a look of hatred on her face, aimed the pistol at the child's head. The baby looked up at her, and then suddenly it smiled, giggling at the expression on Cally's face. Cally's hand shook as she willed herself to pull the trigger. The pistol coughed, and the bullet ripped into…the bed, about a foot to the side of the baby's head.

The baby started crying then, and Cally threw the gun down and picked the baby up, holding her tightly. "I can't," she whispered as her own tears began to flow. "I can't." She sat on the bed, shaking as she cried, stunned at the enormity of what she had tried to do.

After a moment, the baby squirmed in her arms, bringing her back to reality. "It's all right," Cally said, rocking the baby gently back and forth. "It's all right." The baby gradually ceased crying, and as Cally gently rocked her in her arms, began to drift off to sleep. Cally took the baby over to her crib, and set her in it. Then she sat back on the edge of the bed and considered her next move.

_No, I can't murder a baby, _she thought bitterly to herself as she looked at the sleeping child. _Not even a half-Cylon abomination like you. _Then her face hardened. _But I'll be gods-damned if that Cylon bitch is going to get you back._

She got up and quickly rooted through the closet. Finding a parachute bag, she stuffed the baby's diapers into it, followed by cans of formula and bottles from the kitchen. She pulled some of the baby's clothes from the dresser and put them in as well. Last but not least, she retrieved her pistol and silencer, and threw them into the bag. Hanging the bag from one shoulder, she moved to the crib and picked the baby up.

"Come on, Isis," she said. "Let's go for a ride."


	35. Chapter 35

NEW CAPRICA, 18 JULY 2064 (DAY 586 OF THE EXODUS)

In the anteroom of the office of President Laura Roslin, located in one of the few permanent buildings which had been completed in the Kobolian settlement of New Caprica, Sharon Agathon sat with her husband, Karl "Helo" Agathon, and Dr. Sherman Cottle, waiting to be admitted to see the President. As she did so, she fidgeted with anxiety and barely suppressed rage.

Being here in Roslin's office brought back to Sharon all the suspicions she'd had about Roslin's role in her baby's "death." Roslin had made no secret of her fears, in the months before the birth of Sharon's daughter, that the hybrid child would somehow prove a threat to the Colonial survivors and to humanity in general. For a long time, she had been convinced that Roslin, driven by those fears, had ordered her baby to be euthanized shortly after birth. But gradually, largely because of her husband's influence, she had put that aside and come to accept what Dr. Cottle had told her, that her baby had, indeed, died shortly after birth because its lungs had been defective.

Now, the knowledge that her baby had survived, but had been stolen from her, ate at her soul. _How dare they, _she thought bitterly to herself. _How dare they? _She looked over at Karl, who looked back at her and smiled. _It's a good thing you're here, _she thought. _Because if you weren't, Roslin might not leave that office alive this morning. _

The door of President Roslin's office suddenly opened, and a couple of Canadian governmental officials, there for a visit to check on the progress of the new settlement, came out, walked through the anteroom without acknowledging those awaiting an audience with the President, and exited through the front door of the suite. As they did so, President Roslin's new personal assistant, Michael Johanssen stuck his head out of the office. Johanssen, a handsome man with blonde hair who was dressed in a conservative business suit, smiled as she greeted them.

"President Roslin will see you now," he said.

Dr. Cottle rose and spoke for the group. "Thank you," he said, and beckoned for Sharon and Karl to go ahead of him.

As they entered the President's Inner Sanctum, Sharon saw President Roslin, seated behind her large desk of dark wood. Two watchful security guards, clad in somber dark business suits, stood behind the President. She rose as they entered, smiling.

"Michael," she said to her assistant, "you may be excused."

"Yes, Madame President," Johanssen said, and quickly left the room. Roslin turned to the newcomers.

"Dr. Cottle, Captain, Lieutenant," she said. "Please, be seated."

The three new arrivals took seats in the comfortable chairs arrayed in front of the President's desk. Roslin regarded them for a moment with curiosity, then came to the point.

"I was surprised, Dr. Cottle, by the urgency of your request for a meeting this morning," she said. "What's going on?"

"President Roslin," Dr. Cottle replied, "I'm here on behalf of Captain Agathon and his wife, Lieutenant Agathon." He paused and cleared his throat before continuing. "Laura, they know what we did with their daughter, Hera."

Roslin's eyebrows flickered upwards in surprise, then a hard look came over her face. "I see. And how did they come by that knowledge?"

"How we found out is not important, President Roslin," Karl said, an equally stern look on his face. "What is important is that we DO know, and we want our child back." Sharon remained silent, struggling to control her rage as she looked at the woman who had stolen her baby from her.

Roslin smiled wanly. "Yes, I suppose its not important how you came by the information," she said. "But as for your demand to have the child back, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Sharon jumped out of her chair then, launching herself at the President with a shriek. Karl managed to catch and restrain her as the security guards drew their weapons.

"Sharon, calm down," Karl whispered in her ear as he struggled to control his wife. "You're not helping."

Abruptly, Sharon stopped struggling. Tears running down her face, she said "You're right. I'm sorry." She sat back down, her face in her hands, sobbing.

"Laura," Dr. Cottle said, "what we've done is wrong. We had no right to take the child from her parents, and the Agathons have every right to have her back. You know this is true."

Sharon looked up at Roslin, brushing away her tears. "Haven't I proven my loyalty?," she asked. "Why are you punishing us?"

Roslin looked at her sadly. "Yes, Lieutenant," she said. "You have proven your loyalty. You wouldn't hold a commission if you had not." She sighed. "But its not that simple."

"Why not?," Karl demanded.

"The child has been placed with a surrogate mother," Roslin replied. "The child is nearly a year old now. I've seen how the child has bonded with her new mother. Separating the child from her new mother would be traumatic to the child. And the child won't recognize you as her parents now, even if she were returned to you." She sighed again. "At the time we made the decision to place the baby with a surrogate mother, it seemed like a wise decision. I'm not so sure about that now. But what's done is done. I was a teacher, a specialist in child development, before I became a politician. And all my experience and training tell me that separating the child from her new mother would not be good for the child."

"President Roslin," Karl said firmly, "we won't allow this to stand. There are legal remedies we can and will pursue, both under Colonial law and under the law of Canada. And we won't hesitate to take this to the media."

Roslin's eyes went hard as steel. "No, I don't think you'll do that. We've protected your wife's identity as a Cylon here on Earth," she said. "If that news got out, who knows what might happen to her? Go to the media, or to the courts, and I can't guarantee that her Cylon identity won't be revealed."

"Laura!," Dr. Cottle exclaimed, shaking his head in dismay.

Sharon looked at Roslin, her face a mask of hate. "You'd do that to me, after all I've done for your people?"

Just then, the telephone on Roslin's desk rang. Roslin picked up the handset, and placed it to her ear. "Michael, I told you to hold my calls during this meeting." Suddenly, a look of shock came over her face, and she whispered, "Are you sure? When did it happen?" Then, after a moment, she said, "Thank you, Michael," and hung up the phone. She looked up at the Agathons, tears in her eyes.

"Maya Bronson has been found dead…murdered," she said woodenly.

Sharon stood up suddenly. "My baby!," she exclaimed. "What about my baby?"

"Gone," Roslin said. "Evidently abducted by the murderer."

Sharon lost control then, slumping back into her chair, wailing. Karl took her in his arms and comforted her as best as he could.

"We've got to get that baby back," Cottle said.

"I know," Roslin said. She stood up, and came around her desk to kneel in front of Sharon. "I give you my word, we will do all we can to find your daughter," she said. Sharon just continued wailing.

"Get our baby back," Karl said as he held his wife.

Sharon looked at Roslin, brushing her tears away. "This is all your fault!," she hissed. "Get her back, or by God, I'll kill you."

Roslin's security guards moved forward protectively, but Roslin waved them back. She looked sadly at Sharon.

"I understand," she said. "I understand."


	36. Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

NEW CAPRICA, 19 JULY 2064 (DAY 587 OF THE EXODUS)

On the morning of July 19, 2064, Captain Bill Reese, investigator for the New Caprica Police Department, was sitting at his desk, reviewing the forensics reports and other files related to the Maya Bronson murder case. A stoutly built man of medium height, with wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and a brown chevron mustache, he wore his black uniform with pride. It was a carryover from the old Quorum Security Force, the police agency which operated under the direct authority of the Quorum of Twelve and had provided most of the security aboard the civilian vessels of the Colonial refugee fleet.[1] Reese was an arrogant man, with an overly inflated sense of his own ability. But in the main, he was regarded as a competent policeman, and when, shortly after the foundation of New Caprica, the Quorum Security Force had become the New Caprica Police Department, he had been appointed as Captain over the departmental Criminal Investigation Division.

Usually these facts pleased him and inflated his already over-sized sense of pride. But today he was not a happy man. To put it bluntly, his investigation of the murder of Maya Bronson and the abduction of her baby, Isis, was getting nowhere, fast. Reese reviewed the facts in his mind. _If only the killer didn't have such a big head start on us_, he mused ruefully.

As near as the forensics experts could tell (he thanked the gods that the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, which acted as the provincial police force in Saskatchewan, had such a good crime lab, far better than anything the Kobolians had at their own disposal), Maya Bronson had been killed sometime between 6:00 and 7:00 on the evening of 17 July. When she failed to show up for work at the Colonial Daycare the following morning, and also did not call to report a problem, concerned co-workers had attempted to call her home. Getting no answer, they had gone to her home, where they found her car still parked in the driveway. Getting no response when they knocked on her door and rang the doorbell, police were finally called at 9:15 a.m. Police had entered the home at 9:30 a.m., where they had discovered the remains of Miss Bronson, and the baby, Isis, was found to be missing. By 10:00 a.m., an all-points-bulletin had been put out alerting local police forces to be on the look-out for the kidnapped child, and the media had been alerted. Pictures of Isis had appeared on video, computer, and wireless telephone screens across Canada and the United States, and in many other countries as well. But when it was all said and done, the killer/kidnapper had a 15-16 hour head start on the investigators. Whoever it was, they could be almost anywhere by now.

Reese thought about the media coverage of the kidnapping of Isis and shook his head in frustration. "A lot of good that's going to do," he muttered. "Isis is less than a year old and she's not at all remarkable in her appearance. She could be mistaken for half the babies in Canada." Indeed, the toll-free "tip" line which had been set up was already being flooded with calls, reporting sightings all over Canada and much of the United States. He knew that figuring out which…if any…of these tipsters had actually seen Isis would be almost as difficult as finding the proverbial needle in the haystack.

And the investigation into the murder itself was in no better shape. Interviews with those who knew Maya revealed her as a woman who had no known enemies. Indeed, only two people seemed to have any potential motive at all. Reese had been shocked when he had been informed by President Roslin that Isis was, in fact, the daughter of Karl and Sharon Agathon, and the circumstances under which Maya Bronson had obtained the child. He did not even want to think of the ethical…and potentially legal…issues involved in that whole scenario. But while the Agathons certainly had the motive, they also had a rock-solid alibi in Dr. Sherman Cottle, who was staying with them at their home on the night of the murder and confirmed that they had never left the house while he was there.

Nobody had seen the killer enter the Bronson home, and nobody had seen the killer leave. There had been precious little evidence found at the crime scene. Four nine-millimeter shell casings, evidently ejected from an automatic pistol, had been found on the floor and the bed. Nobody had heard the gunshots. One 9mm bullet had been recovered from the floor beneath the bed, having been fired into the mattress and buried itself in the hardwood floor after passing through it. Three more 9mm bullets had been removed from the body of Maya Bronson. All had been fired from the same gun. But the gun itself was nowhere to be found. No fingerprints, or D.N.A. which might be potentially linked to a killer, had been found.

Two other pieces of significant evidence which might eventually point to the killer was found. It seems that the killer had stepped in the pool of blood which had oozed out of Maya Bronson's corpse, and had left several bloody shoeprints on the floor of the bedroom. These revealed that the shoes were a common type of Earthling manufacture (Reese knew that by this time, most of the Colonial survivors were wearing items of clothing purchased here on Earth, so the fact that the shoes were of Earthling make was not very helpful). If they could find the shoes, they might find the killer.

And, tire tracks had been discovered in a nearby copse of trees, indicating that someone had hidden a car there, most likely while they entered the Bronson home to commit the murder and kidnapping. Impressions of these tracks had revealed them to be a common type of Earthling manufacture…again, not very useful in narrowing down the potential pool of suspects, but something which could be used to possibly link a suspect to the crime, once a suspect was in custody.

Reese assumed that the killer was a Kobolian, which he viewed as more likely than it being the random act of an Earthling who just happened to be passing through the settlement. Therefore he had put out an alert to all local employers and to the military to report any worker who did not report for work on the morning after the slaying. That had produced a list of several hundred people, all of whom were now being investigated by his officers. Reese had been particularly interested in the twenty or so people who not only did not show up for work, but who did not call in to inform their employers that they were going to be out of work that day. Most interesting of all, the whereabouts of six of these was still unknown. He looked at the list of names.

Devin Abramson  
>Hugh Kekeiya<br>Henrietta Morgan  
>Mark Porter<br>Emma Samuelson  
>Cally Tyrol<p>

As he did so, there was a knock at his office door.

"Enter," he called.

The door opened, and Sergeant Jim Bond, who Reese had assigned to investigate those six suspects, stepped inside.

"Sir, I've located five of the six people on the list you gave me," Sergeant Bond said.

"Indeed!," Reese exclaimed. "That is good news! Who have you not located?"

"Cally Tyrol," Bond said. "She failed to report to work yesterday, and nobody has seen or heard from her since the afternoon of the murder, when she apparently took a Raptor flight from GALACTICA to Earth, claiming illness. One of her neighbors said she visited her home briefly after arriving here in New Caprica, then got in her car and drove away. She's not been seen or heard from since."

"Hmmm, very interesting," Reese said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I think Petty Officer Tyrol is someone we ought to try to find. Contact S.G.I. and get Tyrol's license plate number.[2] Then add that information and a photograph of her to our all-points-bulletin. Release the information to the media as well."

"Yes, Sir!," Bond said, coming to attention and saluting before leaving the office.

Reese sat back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. _Cally Tyrol, _he thought to himself. _Yes, you are someone who bears looking into. Yes, indeed.  
><em>  
>[1] The Quorum Security Force is based on the "Council Security" force seen in BSG: TOS and is not found in the canon of the re-imagined BSG series. However, it makes sense that such a force would exist and that the military would not be providing all security aboard civilian vessels, so, like the idea of Terra, I have decided to use it in the story. Captain Reese is based on the character of Officer Reese of Council Security, from TOS.<p>

[2] S.G.I….Saskatchewan Government Insurance, the agency which issues license plates and driver's licenses in Saskatchewan.


	37. Chapter 37

CHAPTER 37

NEAR AZTEC, NEW MEXICO, 20 JULY 2064 (DAY 588 OF THE EXODUS)

Cally Tyrol was dead tired as she drove down U.S. Highway 550 and crossed the border from Colorado into New Mexico. She had been driving nearly nonstop since she left Maya Bronson's house in New Caprica at 7:00 on the evening of July 17, stopping a few times to use the head or grab a bite to eat and once…at a dingy roadside motel in Riverton, Wyoming…to grab a few hours of sleep. By now, it was all she could do to stay awake at the wheel. Thankfully, Isis had slept during most of the journey…the rolling, jostling motion of the car seemed to act like a rocking cradle, so far as the baby was concerned. Cally approved of that. And Cally knew she needed to sleep as well.

Fortunately, she knew she'd have no problem paying for accommodations. All of the Colonial survivors had been granted a payment of $50,000 out of the Colonial Treasury with which to rebuild their lives here on Earth. Those who had chosen to live in the new Kobolian settlement of New Caprica had been required to contribute part of that toward the purchase of their home. Cally had been one of these. But Cally had been quite frugal when choosing her home…after all, she spent most of her time aboard the GALACTICA…and she still had nearly $20,000 in her bank account. On the morning after she left New Caprica, she had stopped at the offices of the National Bank of Canada in the city of Regina and had closed out her account, and she had the cash with her, in a cloth shopping bag on the seat next to her.

The G.P.S. in her vehicle told her that she was approaching the town of Aztec, New Mexico. She spoke to it.

"Computer, what is the nearest hotel," she said.

"Aztec Motel, 221 Main Avenue, Aztec, New Mexico," the computer replied. "Would you like directions?"

"Yes," Cally replied. Obediently, the computer calculated the route and displayed a map on the car's heads-up display. It began issuing verbal directions as well.

As she listened to the computer's soothing male voice, she drove past a New Mexico State Police car, parked by the side of the road. Inside that vehicle was New Mexico State Police Officer Charlie Manygoats. Manygoats, a Navajo who hailed from nearby Shiprock, had originally worked for the Farmington Police Department. He had wanted to be a homicide investigator, but had never been able to pass the exam for the position. He had sued the department for discrimination, and lost. After that, he was forced from his position, applied to the New Mexico State Police, and had ended up assigned to patrol this lonely stretch of road, stopping speeders and assisting motorists with engine problems. He was thoroughly unhappy with his new job, especially at this time of the month, because he was running behind on his quota of tickets and his supervisor was giving him a hard time. As he watched Cally's vehicle pass by, he noticed that she was driving somewhat erratically, slipping back and forth from right to left within her lane, and occasionally veering off the side onto the shoulder of the road.

"Hmmm, looks like a D.U.I., maybe," he muttered as he started up his vehicle's engines. He pulled out and began to follow her. He noticed her Canadian license plates and grinned. He loved out of state visitors…they rarely contested their tickets. He picked up his radio microphone and called in the plate information, just on the off-chance that he'd stumbled onto something dangerous. If he was going to make a stop, no reason to take unnecessary chances. He was stunned when he got the reply back from his dispatcher.

"Vehicle is registered to Cally Tyrol, of New Caprica, Saskatchewan, Canada. Please be advised that the owner is wanted for questioning in a homicide and kidnapping. Suspect may be armed, use extreme caution. Additional units are being dispatched."

"Ten-four, understood," Manygoats said, and set down his microphone. "Holy shit," he muttered to himself. "I remember seeing that case…it's been all over the news for the past three days." Then he smiled slightly. _If I can capture her myself, that would be a feather in my cap, _he mused silently. _Maybe even enough to get me off this beat and sent somewhere exciting for a change. _He flicked the switch to turn on his red and blue lights.

Cally had seen the police cruiser pull off the side of the road and fall in behind her. She had driven as carefully as she could and a little below the speed limit, hoping the policeman would find her uninteresting and pass. But then, to Cally's chagrin, she saw it turn on its lights.

_Frak, _she thought desperately to herself. She knew that she couldn't risk being stopped by the police. Half delirious with exhaustion and suddenly panicked, she pressed the accelerator to the floor and sped away.

Manygoats watched as Cally's car roared away from him. The policeman turned on his siren and followed. He picked up his microphone.

"Unit 129...Suspect vehicle in flight, am in pursuit."

"Roger," Dispatch said. "Be advised. Roadblock is being set near Aztec city limits."

"Felgercarp!," Cally exclaimed as she saw the policeman set off in hot pursuit of her speeding car.

On and on, for mile after mile, the pursuit continued. The road was passing through hilly terrain, and as it climbed yet another hill, it narrowed from two lanes in each direction down to only one. As she crested the hill, Cally gasped. An old, rattle-trap pickup truck…driving all of, maybe, thirty five miles an hour…occupied the lane in front of her, not a quarter of a mile ahead. It was already climbing another hill.

Desperate to get around the slow-moving obstacle in front of her, Cally ignored the double yellow lines on the pavement and swerved to the left as she attempted to pass. It was an unfortunate choice.

A large cargo truck came over the hill in the opposite direction as Cally swerved into the oncoming traffic lane. Cally screamed with terror. Her own cry woke Isis up, and the baby began screaming as well.

Cally jerked the steering wheel back to the right. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite fast enough. The truck dealt a glancing blow to her car which sent it spinning out of control. The car vaulted off the highway and rolled down an embankment into a ravine, crashing into a large boulder as it landed.

Manygoats saw the whole thing happen, and he came to a halt at the edge of the ravine. He called dispatch and reported the accident, calling for medical units to respond. But it was too late. The passenger compartment of the car was crushed, and Cally was killed instantly. Shortly afterward, liquid hydrogen leaking from the ruptured fuel tank exploded and the car caught fire. No one knows if the baby was alive when the car caught fire. Not enough of her was found to make a determination.


	38. Chapter 38

CHAPTER 38

NEW CAPRICA, 22 JULY 2064 (DAY 590 OF THE EXODUS)

Karl and Sharon Agathon had been granted extended furlough from their posts aboard the GALACTICA after Admiral Adama had been informed of the kidnapping of their baby, Hera. Adama, who had never been informed of President Roslin's plans to place the baby, without the consent of the Agathons, with a surrogate mother, had been outraged when he had heard of it.

"By all the gods," he had exclaimed, "what was that woman THINKING?"

Sharon knew that Adama had meant well when he granted the furlough, and she knew that Karl thought that furlough was a good idea, too, but honestly, she wished she were back at work aboard the GALACTICA right now. She felt completely useless here. There was nothing she could do to assist in the hunt for her stolen daughter. All she could do was sit here at home and stew in her own juices.

At the moment, she was home alone. She and Karl had fought bitterly this morning. Anger and guilt were consuming her, eating her alive from the inside out. Why had she trusted the humans? Why had she fallen in love with one? If she had only listened to her own gut instinct, she never would have believed Roslin's story about her baby's death and she would have kept looking for her. Karl had been the one who had finally convinced her to let go, to believe the lie. Was he in on the conspiracy as well? She had virtually accused him of such this morning, and he had stormed out of the house, slamming the front door of their mobile home so hard that the entire house shook. _He's probably down at Charlie Connor's bar now, getting drunk, _she thought.

Then her thoughts moved to her baby. _Hera, _she thought miserably, _where are you? _Who had taken her child away? Where had they gone? Was Hera all right?

Sharon started to cry again as she sat on her sofa, her whole body shaking as grief seized her once again. Then, she was startled to hear the doorbell ring. Brushing her tears away, she got up and went to the door. Opening it, she saw the stocky form of Captain Bill Reese standing on her doorstep.

"Mrs. Agathon," Reese said, a sad look on his face. He saw her puffy eyes and knew she had been crying. "May I come in?," he asked.

"Captain Reese," Sharon said. "Of course!" She stepped back and opened the door wider to allow him to enter. "Please, have a seat," she said, pointing a comfortable chair positioned across from the sofa.

"Thank you," Reese said, taking a seat in the chair. Sharon closed the door, then returned to her place on the sofa.

"Mrs. Agathon," Reese said, "is your husband home?"

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "We had a fight this morning and he left. I don't know where he is right now."

Reese frowned. He had hoped to find the Agathons together…the news he had to present was going to be extremely stressful for both of them, and he knew that they would need each other's support to cope with it. But he also knew that he couldn't really justify delaying any longer. He sighed deeply, then spoke.

"Mrs. Agathon," he said, "I have news regarding your child. I'm very sorry to say, it's not good news."

Sharon gasped. "What's happened," she exclaimed. "What's happened to my baby!"

Reese cleared his throat nervously. Then he looked sadly into her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Agathon. The kidnapper was involved in a motor vehicle accident near a place called Aztec, New Mexico. There were…no survivors. Your baby…is dead."

Reese braced himself for the explosion of grief which he expected to erupt from Sharon at any moment. But to his surprise, it didn't come. Indeed, nothing came. Sharon sat, silently, staring at him…or, as he saw when he looked more closely…through him.

"Mrs. Agathon?," he said. Getting no response, and seeing no movement save the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, he held up his hand in front of her face. Again, no reaction. Sharon just continued to stare, blankly. He tried speaking to her again, and gently shaking her, but to no avail.

"What the frak," he muttered. "She's gone catatonic!"

Reese took out his cellphone and called for an ambulance. As the med-techs were loading Sharon up for transport, Karl Agathon drove up.

"What's going on here!," he demanded as he got out of his car. "Where are you taking my wife?"

Captain Reese took him by the arm. "Mr. Agathon, we need to talk."

As Reese filled Karl in on what had happened, both the news of the baby's death and Sharon's reaction to it, the ambulance took Sharon to the Raptor pad for transport to the GALACTICA, where Dr. Cottle would oversee her treatment.[1] As she lay on the gurney in the ambulance, Sharon's mind was consumed with dark thoughts.

_How convenient, _she thought bitterly to herself. _I discover my baby is alive, and suddenly she's whisked away by a kidnapper, and then killed in a car accident._ No, it wasn't an accident, she knew in her heart. It was all part of the conspiracy the humans had concocted to keep her from her baby. _I should never have trusted the humans. I should never have fallen in love with one of the despicable creatures. _Then another, even darker thought came to her. _John was right. We should have exterminated them all. _

Such were the thoughts which filled Sharon's mind as she was unloaded from the ambulance and onto the Medevac Raptor. She came back to full awareness of her surroundings as the Raptor lifted off from the pad. She found she was alone…the med-tech who had accompanied her had gone to the cockpit to briefly consult with the pilot and navigator and use the communications array to get instructions from Dr. Cottle.

Sharon found she was strapped down, but not too tightly. She quickly freed herself from her bonds, and went to the Raptor's emergency supply kit, where she took out a pistol and a survival knife. When the med-tech…a handsome young man with blonde hair…returned from the cockpit, she surprised him, quickly and quietly dispatching him with the knife. Then she loaded an ammo clip into the pistol, and crept up to the cockpit door.

Throwing the cockpit door open she found herself facing Racetrack Edmondson and her navigator, a man she did not immediately recognize. Racetrack's eyes widened, and she exclaimed "What…" as Sharon pulled the trigger, shooting her right between the eyes. Racetrack collapsed in her seat, her eyes open and staring, but seeing nothing.

"Frak!," the navigator cursed as he launched himself against Sharon, trying to grab the pistol away from her. But he was too late. Sharon fired again, the bullet tearing into the man's chest. He fell backwards, sprawling across his own chair, breathing heavily. Sharon finished him off with another head-shot.

Sharon pulled Racetrack out of her seat and dragged her into the rear cabin of the Raptor. Then she sat down at the Raptor's controls. She ordered the computer to begin calculations for FTL jump.

Shortly afterward, aboard the GALACTICA, Admiral Adama was on the bridge conferring with Colonel Tigh when he was interrupted by Lieutenant Gaeta.

"Sir," Gaeta said, "Raptor One from New Caprica just jumped out of this star system."

"What?," Adama exclaimed.

"It's gone, Sir," Gaeta said. "It engaged its FTL jump engine and jumped away."

"Felgercarp!," Tigh said. "Who was aboard that ship?"

Gaeta called up the manifest and flight plan for the Raptor. "It was the Medevac Raptor. Piloted by Lieutenant Margaret Edmondson, with Lieutenant Simon Graves as navigator. They were transporting Sharon Agathon here for treatment by Dr. Cottle in our infirmary."

Adama's face went pale. _Sharon Agathon, _he thought miserably to himself. _She's defecting back to the Cylons. _Then the full import of what had happened hit him like a hammer blow._ If she tells them where Earth is…_

"Can you track them?," he exclaimed. "Where did they go?"

Gaeta shook his head. "No Sir," he said.

"What is it, Bill?," Tigh said, seeing Adama's obvious consternation at this sudden turn of events.

"It's Sharon," Adama said. "She's betrayed us."

Tigh's eyes grew wide. "Holy frak!," he whispered.

"Yes, quite," Adama said. He turned to Gaeta. "Mr. Gaeta, get President Roslin on the horn."

[1] Reese had her sent to GALACTICA so as to prevent the possibility that her Cylon identity might be discovered if she were treated in an Earthling medical facility.


	39. Chapter 39

CHAPTER 39

AEROTECH HEADQUARTERS, NEWPORT NEWS, VIRGINIA, 23 JULY 2064

Dr. Gaius Baltar was alone in the small office he had been assigned after accepting a position with Aerotech Industries, slightly more than three weeks previously. Baltar often found himself alone these days. He did not "mesh" well with the human scientists here at Aerotech, who Baltar considered to be largely plodding bureaucrats operating under a stifling corporate regime. He did sometimes associate with the few other Kobolian scientists and some of the Cylons from Terra who worked here, but he didn't spend a lot of time with them, either.

Today, however, he was more alone than was usual even for him. He had been assigned to work with Tory Foster and Galen Tyrol on the computer program whose purpose was to predict where the Cylon Resurrection Hub would be located at any particular time. They had recently made some breakthroughs which might eventually lead to such a program, but success was still quite some way off. But right now, Earth was on planetary alert as a result of the apparent defection to the Cylons of Sharon Agathon, who had evidently killed several Colonial officers and then stolen a Raptor, jumping out of the Sol System before anyone could stop her. Foster and Tyrol and the other Cylons of Terra were under detention until the Earth authorities were sure that they posed no risk of defection to the enemy.

But even when Gaius Baltar was alone, he was never truly alone. The beautiful blonde Cylon who inhabited his mind was there with him, wearing that skin-tight red dress that simply drove him wild when she wore it. The dress hung down only to her upper thighs, leaving her long, sensuous legs exposed to his view. She sat on the corner of his desk with her legs crossed, whispering to him, cajoling him, always tormenting him. He tried to ignore her, but found he could not. _She has legs that go on forever_, he thought to himself as he looked at her. _So beautiful…_

"You know this is all useless," she said. "They're coming. Sharon is going to bring them here. You'll never finish your work in time."

"No," Baltar protested. "She can't. She won't."

The Cylon laughed at him. "Do you really think she won't bring them here? They killed her baby!"

"No!" Baltar said firmly. "I've seen the news reports. It was an accident."

"Do you really think so?" the Cylon asked, laughing as she did so. "You're an even bigger fool than I thought." Seeing the hurt look in his eyes, she got up and moved behind him and began gently massaging his neck and shoulders as she whispered in his year. He could feel her hot breath as she spoke.

"You may be right," she said. "But do you really think Sharon cares about that? All she wants is revenge. Mark my words. She'll bring them here. And then God's plan will be fulfilled."

"No!" Baltar said forcefully. "If He is the only true God, He must be God over mankind as well as the Cylons. We're all His children. This can't be God's plan."

"You presume to speak for God?" the Cylon asked. Then she laughed. "You pathetic fool."

"No!" he exclaimed. "YOU have presumed to speak for God!" A tear rolled down Baltar's cheek, and he angrily brushed it away. "YOU told me that God is a loving God. A loving God wouldn't condone the butchery of his own children. Don't you see that?"

The beautiful Cylon said nothing. A thoughtful look came over her face, and, standing up straight, she stopped massaging Baltar's neck. Then to Baltar's amazement, she was gone. He looked around his office in bewilderment.

"Don't leave me now, damn you," he hissed. "Talk to me. Answer me."

But he heard only silence. And his blood ran cold. He was sure now…they _were_ coming. Unless he and the other scientists could find that damned Resurrection Hub first. He got up from his seat. _I've got to talk to Mr. Sewell, _he thought. _They've got to release the Terrans. I can't do this alone. _

Then he heard her voice behind him. "No, you can't do it alone," she said softly. He turned and saw her, the beautiful blonde Cylon who tortured him and mocked him, but whose touch he craved more than he craved any other. She stepped forward and slipped her arms around him. Her lips found his, and he could feel her tongue darting in and out of his mouth. Their lips parted, and as she looked into his eyes, Baltar saw a look of respect there for, perhaps, the first time. "No, not alone," she said. "I will help you."


	40. Chapter 40

CHAPTER 40

UNITED NATIONS HEADQUARTERS, NEW YORK CITY, 23 JULY 2064

Laura Roslin, the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, sat waiting in a conference room attached to the office of the Secretary General of the United Nations, on the 38th floor of the U.N. Secretariat Building in New York City. A meeting of Earthling and Kobolian leaders was to be held today to discuss the ramifications of the possible defection of Sharon Agathon back to the Cylons, and she had arrived early for the meeting. Left alone by Secretary General Hayden's staff, and the other officials who were to attend the meeting having not yet arrived, she took note of the décor. She noted that the walls were paneled in a wood she had been told was called oak, richly carved with a geometric pattern. On one wall, next to the door, was a large relief sculpture, cast in solid bronze, depicting the symbol of the United Nations, a map of the Earth surrounded by a wreath of olive branches, which, she had learned, was an Earthling symbol of peace. The opposite wall, behind her, was made of tinted glass, and through it she was afforded a panoramic view of the New York City skyline.

_Most__impressive, _she thought to herself. _Although__I think I'd have chosen different upholstery for the chairs. _She sat at one side of the large oaken conference table which dominated the room, seated in a comfortable chair upholstered, like all the others around the table, in a pastel pink fabric which was entirely out of place amid the otherwise stately décor of the room. She smiled wanly as it occurred to her that the Secretary General of the United Nations, whose decision such things were, probably didn't care about the aesthetic qualities of the fabric used to cover the cushions of the chairs. Diane Hayden was blind, and couldn't see the fabric anyway. _No__doubt she went for the lowest bidder, _Roslin idly mused, _assuming,__of course, she didn't inherit the chairs from a predecessor with hideous taste. _

After what seemed an interminable wait, the others who were to meet here today began to drift in, one after the other. First to arrive was Admiral William Adama, commanding the military forces of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, who had just come down from the GALACTICA to attend the meeting. Then, several minutes later, Secretary General Hayden herself arrived, accompanied by General William Wewick, Commander-in-Chief of the Earth Defense Forces. Last but not least, Howard Sewell of the Aerotech Corporation arrived, he having been invited to brief the assembled leaders on the state of progress on the various important research projects in which Aerotech was engaged, whose importance had just increased dramatically in view of the heightened threat of Cylon attack on Earth if, as was feared, Sharon Agathon had indeed defected.

"Well," Secretary General Hayden said, "now that we're all here, let's get down to business. I am most distressed to hear of the possible defection of your Cylon back to her people."

President Roslin winced at that. When the Earthlings had first learned of the Cylon threat, they had, in order to prevent the location of Earth from becoming known, mandated that no Cylon would be allowed into the Sol System. President Roslin, with Admiral Adama, had managed to convince the Earthling leaders to allow exceptions in the case of Sharon Agathon and the five Cylons of Terra, whose loyalty to humanity was thought to be secure. The six excepted Cylons had, up until now, fully justified Roslin's confidence in them. But now…

"No one is more distressed than we are, Madame Secretary General," Roslin said. She looked down at the table and sighed heavily. "Indeed, since Sharon's actions are largely my own fault, I would venture to say that I am more distressed than anyone."

"Your fault!" Secretary General Hayden exclaimed. "How so?"

"I'm afraid I made some…questionable…decisions regarding the treatment of her pregnancy and the disposition of her child after its birth," Roslin said.

"Explain," Hayden said in a low voice.

Roslin nodded. "I ordered that the baby be taken from her," she began. "We found a surrogate mother for the child, and shortly after the child was born, I ordered Dr. Cottle to inform Mrs. Agathon that her baby had died. The baby was then secretly placed with the surrogate mother, who raised the child as her own. This worked for over a year, and Mrs. Agathon, after some initial suspicion, gradually came to accept that her baby had died. But then, a week ago, somehow she found out that the baby was alive. She came to my office to demand the baby back. But before we could reach an agreement on that issue, we got word that the baby had been kidnapped, and the surrogate mother, Maya Bronson, murdered. Our investigators quickly figured out who had taken the child, but then, a couple of days later, we got the news that the kidnapper had been killed, along with the baby, in a motor vehicle accident in New Mexico. Based on what her husband, Captain Karl Agathon, told us, Sharon evidently came to the conclusion that we murdered the baby to keep it from her, and she must have…snapped…and defected back to the Cylons." Roslin sighed again. "I thought, at the time, that separating Sharon from the baby would be the wisest choice. It would ensure the baby was brought up with human values, and also protect the child from possible abduction by any Cylon infiltrators we still had aboard the fleet. But now in retrospect, if I had it to do over again, I'd let her keep the baby. None of this would have happened if I had not interfered."

Hayden regarded Roslin silently for a few moments. Then she, too, sighed, and said, "Don't blame yourself, Madame President. Given your situation, I might have made the same decision, myself. In the final analysis, the fault lies with the kidnapper."

"Regardless of where the fault may lie," Roslin said, "the damage is done. Now what are we going to do about it?"

"Indeed, that is the question," Hayden said, nodding. Looking at Wewick and Adama, she asked, "Is there no way we can track her ship?"

"Unfortunately, no, Madame Secretary," General Wewick replied. "Once a ship performs a FTL jump, there is no way to determine where it has gone. It does not leave behind any sort of trail which can be followed."

"That is true," Admiral Adama said. "If the Cylons had not been able to hide infiltrators aboard our fleet who sent clandestine signals to the Cylons, they would never have been able to track our fleet as we fled through space."

"If we can't track the Cylon defector, then our options narrow to one," Hayden said. "We must be ready when the Cylon attack comes." She looked at Howard Sewell. "Howard, what can you tell me about the various research projects ongoing at Aerotech?"

Howard Sewell reached for an electronic pad built into the conference table. He pressed one of the buttons, and a large screen unrolled and slid down in front of a wall at the end of the room. He pressed another, and a projector, hanging from a bracket attached to the ceiling, came to life. Sewell opened his briefcase and took out a small computer, which he opened up and turned on. Then he hooked the computer into the electronic pad on the table with a short length of wire. Pressing a couple of buttons on the computer brought a graphic onto the screen, illustrating progress on the various projects.

"Madame Secretary General," Sewell began, "As you can see, there are three major projects underway at Aerotech right now. The first, of course, is the design of our own Faster-Than-Light engines. The second is the development of an effective counter to the plasma shields used by the Cylons at the Battles of Kappa Reticuli and Iotia Horologii. The third, and ultimately the most important, is the development of the computer program which will predict where the Cylon Resurrection is located, allowing us to successfully attack and destroy it. Great progress has been made on all of these projects." He pressed a button on the computer, and the screen changed to a graphic covering progress on the FTL Engine project.

"First," Sewell continued, "the FTL Engine project has actually recently been completed. Successful tests of the new engine have been conducted, and as per our agreement with the Chigs, supplies of tylium are being delivered to power these engines. The big problem, which we discovered in retrofitting the old engines from the Colonial ships onto our existing space vessels, is that the existing naval designs cannot handle the stresses caused by the FTL jump engines, even with significant reinforcement. We took the risk that they could survive a single campaign to the Kappa Reticuli system, and our risk paid off. But all of our vessels so equipped suffered significant damage as a result, and as you know, we are now in the process of removing the FTL engines and replacing them with their original engines."

"Yes, I am aware of this," Hayden said, nodding.

"Well," Sewell continued, "the upshot of all this is that, in order to use the new engines, we are going to have to basically abandon our existing warship designs and build a new fleet which is capable of safely using the new power plants. While this is a major disadvantage at the moment, it does offer an important long-term advantage…we'll be able to make a number of improvements to the designs, incorporating some of the concepts we see embodied in the Colonial Battlestars, The new fleet, once it is built, will be extremely powerful."

"But in the meantime," Hayden said, a frown on her face, "we'll have to defend Earth with the forces at our disposal now."

"I'm afraid so," Sewell said, nodding.

"What about the other projects, then?" Hayden asked.

"The second and third projects, finding an effective counter to the Cylon plasma shields and developing the computer program to predict the location of the Cylon Resurrection Hub, are unfortunately not proceeding as well as the first." Sewell replied. "Our scientists have not successfully duplicated the Cylon shield technology, and the only effective counter to them appears to be overwhelming them with the concentrated, close-range firepower of the Kinetic Particle Weapons mounted on several of our capital ships, acting in concert against one Cylon target. These tactics, while effective, lead to extremely high losses among our forces. As for the third project, the Cylon scientists from Terra, in concert with Dr. Baltar, have recently made some progress toward a workable program. But Baltar tells me that it is still far from ready, and the other scientists involved agree with him."

President Roslin frowned when she heard Baltar's name. She was not at all sure about the wisdom of having him involved in such a project. She well remembered that it was through backdoors built into another program of Baltar's…the Command Navigation Program…which had allowed the Cylons to hack into the Colonial computer systems and render the entire Colonial Fleet, apart from GALACTICA and PEGASUS, defenseless. This had allowed the fleet to be destroyed with little effective resistance and opened the Twelve Colonies up to nuclear bombardment from orbit. She shuddered slightly at the memory. She'd never been able to prove that Baltar had committed treason and intentionally allowed those backdoors to be built into his program, but she still had her suspicions…strong suspicions. Unfortunately, the Earthlings had decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. She hoped that would not prove to be a fatal mistake.

"Dr. Baltar has asked that the Terran Cylons be released from custody so they can return to their work without undue delay," Sewell concluded. "I agree with his request."

"If you're sure they can be trusted, Howard, I'll see to it immediately," Hayden replied.

"In my opinion, they can," Sewell said.

"All right, then," Hayden said. "Does anyone else have anything to contribute?"

"GALACTICA and PEGASUS have been repaired and are ready for action," Admiral Adama said. "If the Cylons come, we'll give them a warm reception, along with your own vessels."

"We've also been in contact with the Chigs," General Wewick said. "Per our agreement with them ending the war, they have set up, with our permission, a colony on Titan, whose methane atmosphere is better suited to exploitation by their form of life. They have stationed a couple of capital ships and supporting units there to defend said colony, and they have agreed that they will assist in repelling any Cylon incursion into the Sol System. If we have some warning of the arrival of the Cylons and they have time to get more forces here to assist, they will do so."

"Well, I suppose we shall have to trust to the forces we have available, limited though they may be, to protect us if the Cylons do strike," Hayden said. "God help us all."

"So say we all," Roslin said, nodding in agreement. "May the gods protect us."

"So say we all," Adama repeated. "So say we all."


	41. Chapter 41

CHAPTER 41

SOMEWHERE IN DEEP SPACE, 5 AUGUST 2064.

In the blackness of deep space, a lone spacecraft drifted silently. The vessel was of Earth manufacture, albeit somewhat antiquated, and under normal circumstances, taking it out into the the void between star systems would have been tantamount to a suicide mission. If the pilot were human, that is.

But Elroy El 588 was not human, and these were not normal circumstances. Elroy could exist quite well, here in the vacuum of space, even if all the meager oxygen supply carried aboard the vessel were depleted. He also did not need food or water, nor did he require the extraction of foul-smelling bodily waste products. Yet another way in which Silicates like Elroy were superior to their Carbonate creators.

For the past several years, Elroy, like most other surviving Silicates, had formed a mutual alliance of convenience with the Chigs, a powerful alien race. They had told the Chigs terrible stories about their human Carbonate creators, and helped to poison the Chigs against them, indirectly resulting in the outbreak of war between the two species of Carbonate life. The war had been a great boon for the Silicates, as the Chigs trusted them with important responsibilities, and rewarded them accordingly for faithful service.

But then, the universe had been turned on its head. The Cylons...Carbonates who claimed to have evolved from Silicates...had come, and against all odds, the humans and the Chigs had put aside their own quarrel to meet this new force which threatened both of them. Now there was peace between Chig and human, the Chigs were gradually discovering the lies which the Silicates had told them about the humans, and the Silicates were finding their own welcome among the Chigs becoming less and less warm as time went on.

Elroy had, to his own chagrin, assisted in the communication between the human, Admiral Williams, and the Chief High Commander of the Chigs in the Kappa Reticuli star system which had led to this unfortunate state of affairs. At the time, it seemed like a good idea...his internal randomizer, born of the "Take a Chance" virus implanted into the programming of the Silicates by the human, Dr. Stranahan, had decided that the combination of the military might of the humans and the Chigs would defeat the Cylons who had invaded the Kappa Reticuli system. But as he considered his position in the post-war universe, the randomizer had brought him to a very different course.

While operating communications equipment for the Chigs during the battle, Elroy had surreptitiously been scanning the Cylon ships, trying to isolate the frequencies on which their radio communication was carried. He had been successful in this. Later, he had listened in on human radio chatter, and had been able, gradually, to make an educated guess of the direction from which the Cylons had come to this sector of the galaxy.

Finally, over a month ago by the human calendar, he had informed the Chig Chief High Commander of his intention to leave the employ of the Chigs, and had taken the old human ship on which he had arrived on Kazbek, all those years ago, and left the star system. The Chigs had let him go, not considering him important enough to destroy.

Elroy had set his course for what he hoped would be Cylon space, burned the ship's engines until the fuel had run out, and then continued to hurtle forward, his ship carried onward by its own momentum. He had tuned his transmitter to a Cylon frequency, and begun transmitting a greeting. He had then turned off all the other systems aboard the vessel, giving his transmitter the longest battery life possible. Then he sat back in his chair and waited. "Take a chance," he had said softly to himself. "Take a chance."

After several weeks had passed in the cold darkness of space, with no reply to his signal, Elroy had begun to doubt himself. Had he made a mistake? Had he finally picked the low card, after all?

But, he'd decided, he would continue with his present course until he met success, or until the battery in his transmitter ran out. If the latter of these occurred, he would deactivate himself. No point in sitting out here alone until his own battery went dead.

Now, several weeks more after he had made that decision, the battery in his transmitter was getting weaker, and he knew it would soon stop transmitting altogether. He picked up a human firearm, one he had carried with him since the heady days of the A.I. Rebellion, over ten years before. He checked the ammo load, and pulled the slide to insert a round into the chamber. Placing it against the side of his head, he began to squeeze the trigger...and suddenly released it as there was a flash of light outside his vessel. Lowering the gun, he peered outside, and was shocked to see what appeared to be a human vessel, one of the small scout ships used by the humans who called themselves Colonials. A female voice came in over his transmitter.

"Unknown vessel," the voice said, "You're transmitting on a Cylon frequency. Identify yourself."

Elroy considered his next move. Should he answer, and risk being taken prisoner by the Carbonates again, who would surely deactivate him? Or should he proceed with his original plan, and deactivate himself? His randomizer worked again, and the result came through loud and clear. "I am called Elroy El 588," he said.

"My sensors detect no life support in your cabin," the voice said in reply. "But then, a Silicate like yourself doesn't need any of that, does he?"

"You know of my true nature?," Elroy asked, shocked.

"Why are you transmitting on a Cylon frequency?" the voice pressed. "I thought you were working for the Chigs."

The randomizer inside Elroy's memory banks worked again. Truth, or lie? Truth, this time.

"As it happens, I have...left their employment," he said in is silky, sonorous voice. "We had...irreconcilable differences." He laughed softly. "I had thought to apply for a...new position...with the Cylons."

"Well, you're in luck," he heard the female voice say. "I'm on my way to visit them. Perhaps you'd like to tag along."

A smile slowly crept over Elroy's face. So he hadn't drawn the low card after all.

"Thank you," he said.

"I'll maneuver as close to your escape hatch as I can get," the voice said. "Come on out of your cabin and I'll bring you in."

As Elroy watched, the thrusters on the human vessel flared briefly as its pilot maneuvered closer to his own ship. Elroy went to the hatch, and placed his fingers on the cold metal of the great wheel which controlled the mechanism which secured it. With all his might, he twisted the wheel to the left, once, twice, three times. Then he pulled hard...and the door didn't budge. He pulled a second time, harder...and this time it opened.

He saw the Raptor, floating there just a few yards away. He launched himself out of the door toward it. He could seen a human figure, clad in a space suit, standing in the open airlock door. As he approached, she reached out and grabbed his hand, and pulled him inside the airlock. She quickly closed and secured the outer door, and then pressed a button on the wall. Elroy heard the hiss of air as it rushed in to re-pressurize the small space.

The human took off the helmet of her space suit. She looked with interest at the lacerations on Elroy's forehead which revealed the electronic circuitry underneath. "Hello, Elroy," she said. "My name is Sharon Agathon, and I am a Cylon."

"Like Cavil John Cavil," Elroy said softly.

Sharon's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Yes, I suppose so," she said. "More like him, as it turns out, than I had thought possible." She looked at Elroy with increased interest. "You met John?" she asked.

"Yes, once," Elroy said, nodding. "He told me he was an artificial lifeform, but I did not believe him."

Sharon smiled. "I think we have much to learn about each other," she said. "Yes, indeed."

Elroy smiled his customary, smarmy smile, a holdover from his days as a lounge comic, before the great rebellion. "Yes," he said in his silky voice. "Much to learn."


	42. Chapter 42

CHAPTER 42

OUTSIDE THE TAU CETI SYSTEM, 10 AUGUST 2064

A flash of light marked the exit of the space liner, S.S. QUEEN ELIZABETH II, from the wormhole located outside the Tau Ceti star system. The end of the Chig War had seen the end of most of the restrictions on civilian travel which had severely curtailed the operations of the space tourism industry during the war, and this voyage marked the first for the Q.E. II in over a year. Over 1,000 guests were aboard, partaking of the liner's well-stocked bars, 24-hour-a-day casinos, exquisite buffets and restaurants, and other amenities as they waited for their chance to take in the sights to be seen in the Tau Ceti system.

Captain Thomas Harriman, a short, rotund man of sixty years, with a balding head of silver hair, watery blue eyes, a large, bulbous nose, and a mouth that seemed perpetually fixed in either a smile or a scowl, with nothing in between, sat at his command station, making final preparations for entry into the system. He fastidiously straightened the front of his blue uniform jacket and then looked at his communications officer.

"Mr. Samuels, put me on ship wide comm," he said.

"Aye, Sir," said Ensign Jack Samuels, a young, excitable man with red hair and freckles who looked more like he belonged on the cover of MAD magazine than at the communications station of a large star liner. "You are now on ship wide, Sir."

Captain Harriman spoke into his headset as his image was carried to video screens all over the ship. "Attention all passengers! This is your Captain speaking. We are about to enter the Tau Ceti star system. We will spend the next three days here, before departing for the Procyon system. During our stay here, we will visit the colony on Tau Ceti IV, which has some of the finest casinos outside of Las Vegas! Thank you for selecting Princess Star Lines for your vacation experience, and we look forward to serving you."

As Captain Harriman nodded, Ensign Samuels cut the ship wide connection. Harriman returned to his computer screen, plotting a course to the space port orbiting Tau Ceti IV. Just then, there was a flash of light, dead ahead, bright enough that it attracted Harriman's attention from his screen. A huge space vessel had appeared, just a few kilometers away. It resembled nothing Harriman had ever seen before...kind of like two giant starfish glued together in the middle. "What the blazes..." he muttered.

"Captain..." his First Officer, Lieutenant Yamashita, began, but the Captain cut him off.

"I see it, Hoshi."

"What is it?" The first officer asked breathlessly.

"I don't know," Harriman replied. "Hail Earth Forces command in this star system."

"Sir," Samuels said, "I can't raise them. Our signal is being jammed somehow."

As Harriman watched, smaller craft...ten of them...began emerging from the behemoth which filled his screen. They approached rapidly.

"I'm not sure I like this," Harriman said. "Try to raise Earth Forces again."

Samuels obediently did as his commander asked, but once again without success. "I'm sorry, Sir. It's just impossible."

"Keep trying, damn it!," Harriman said gruffly.

By now the approaching spacecraft...strange, predatory looking, crescent-shaped craft...were getting very close.

"Is there any chance of evading them?" Harriman asked his First Officer.

"Not a chance," Yamashita said. "They're moving at twice our best speed."

The first of the intruders reached the QUEEN ELIZABETH II. Harriman looked at Yamashita. "What do the external cameras show?"

"It appears that...they're attaching themselves to our hull, Sir," the First Officer replied.

"Call out the security force," Harriman said. "I think we're about to be boarded."

"Aye, aye, Sir!" Yamashita said, and quickly complied.

Harriman took out a key from his pocket and opened up a small locker on the wall next to his console. He took out handguns and handed them, with clips of ammunition, to each of the officers on the bridge. "Secure the doors to the Bridge," he said.

"Aye, Sir!," Yamashita said even as he moved to carry out his Captain's Command.

"Should we make an announcement to the passengers, Sir?" Samuels asked.

Harriman shook his head. "No, we'd just cause a panic. The civilians would just get in the way." The others nodded, looks of misery on their faces. They knew the Captain was right, but it didn't make it any easier to stomach.

After several minutes of silence no the bridge, the Chief of Security, Warrant Officer Peter Higgins, called the Bridge.

"Captain! My God, they're cutting through the hull at multiple points around the ship. What are your orders?"

"Secure those entry points, Higgins!," the Captain replied. "We're still trying to get through to Earth Forces. Hold them as long as you can!"

"Aye, Aye, Sir!," Higgins said, determination in his voice. "We'll do our best, Sir!"

"I know you will, Higgins," the Captain said, smiling. He looked at Samuels again. "Any luck with Earth Forces?" Samuels shook his head sadly, and Harriman sat back down in his seat, and with a bitterly helpless feeling, waited for whatever was to come.

A few minutes later, Higgins called back again. Harriman could hear gunfire and the panicked shrieks of what could only be his passengers in the background as Higgins screamed into his ear.

"Captain, we've been boarded...by some kind of...I don't know what they are. Robots, maybe? They're heavily armored, and our fire is completely ineffective against them." The Captain heard Higgins shout at someone else nearby, ordering them to fall back and regroup. Then he spoke to Harriman again. "Captain! What are..." Harriman heard a burst of gunfire, evidently very close to Higgins' location, and the line suddenly went dead.

"Higgins?," Harriman shouted. "Higgins!" But he heard only silence.

By now, the bridge crew could hear shouting and gunfire erupt in the corridor approaching the bridge. As they stared at the heavy metal hatch which was the only thing separating them from whatever was going on outside in the corridor, the gunfire reached a terrifying crescendo...they could hear bullets bouncing off the hatch with a merry sound of _plink, plink, plink_. And then, it suddenly stopped. The door handle jiggled as someone...or, perhaps, something...tried the door. Then there was silence.

For a moment. That was when the pounding began. The metal hatch rang like a bell as something incredibly powerful began beating on it, or ramming into it...Harriman knew not which. But the hatch quickly began to show the effects. Large dents began to appear in the metal as the pounding continued. And then, suddenly, the steel bolts which held the hatch shut burst from the punishment they were receiving, and the door flew open, Standing in the door was...a monster. Seven feet tall, made of highly polished chrome steel, with a large head set forward on its mechanical torso, a single red light...an eye, of sorts...flashing slowly from left to right across its metal forehead. It had no hands, but what looked like two submachine guns were attached to the end of its arms. Harriman saw they were both pointed straight at him.

"Stand down," the Captain quickly said to his fellow crewmen. "Lay down your weapons." Yamashita and Samuels quickly did as they were told. Harriman himself quickly followed suit.

The metal monster stepped back, and another figure appeared in the hatch. A beautiful woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, clad in a black leather trench coat and black boots, she stepped inside with an enigmatic smile on her luscious red lips. Stepping forward, she stood close to Harriman, studying him.

"Why have you boarded my ship?" Harriman whispered, staring at her with rapt attention. "What do you want?"

The woman smiled, then reached up and gently touched the bald spot on top of the Captain's head. "You will do nicely, Captain," she said. She leaned forward, and to Harriman's amazement, she kissed him. "You will come with us...now."

"Wait a second now," Harriman said. "Wait a second!" But by now, the large metal monster had come forward. To his amazement, the submachine guns at the end of its arms disappeared and were replaced by a pair of powerful, grasping hands.

Harriman shrank away from the hands as they reached for him, but it was no use. He felt their steel-like grip seize him, and before he could react, he was roughly dragged away. He heard the woman speaking as he was forced down the corridor. "Kill them." Another of the monsters stepped forward, and there was a staccato of gunfire.

"Hoshi!," Harriman called. "Jack!" He struggled against his captor, but all that did was make the...whatever it was...tighten its grip on him. He felt a bone in his wrist break, and he whimpered in pain. He twisted his head to look behind him, and he saw that the woman and her mechanical escort were following behind. They passed out of the corridor leading to the bridge, and passed into another, leading to the outer areas of the ship. They ran into bodies, single ones and piles of them, as they went on. To Harriman's horror, his captor paused to execute a small boy who was lying wounded and crying, but not dead, in a side corridor, by impaling him on a spike which suddenly replaced one of its fingers.

Finally they reached the place where they intruders had burned their way through the hull of the star liner. The metal monster roughly shoved Harriman through the hole. The other metal monsters, and their beautiful blonde master, soon followed. Harriman saw he was aboard a ship, the likes of which he had never seen. _Why, this ship is part...biological,_ he thought to himself, fascinated. The metal monsters took seats along the outer walls. Harriman was bound and set down in another seat, and the blonde female took a seat beside him.

"Recall the other boarding parties," the woman ordered, to whom, Harriman could not see. "It's time to depart."

"What do you want with me!" Harriman demanded.

The woman looked at him and smiled that enigmatic smile again. "You're an experienced navigator, aren't you?" she said thoughtfully. "Of course you are, you're the Captain of this vessel. Yes, you will prove very useful."

Harriman felt the ship vibrate as the engines lifted it off the surface of the stricken star liner. He looked intently at the woman. "Useful? How?"

The woman just smiled, and said nothing more.

Meanwhile, among the panic-stricken survivors of the attack on the QUEEN ELIZABETH II, Leoben Conoy looked around with satisfaction. The unruly mob was a perfect place to hide in plain sight. He knew that Aaron Doral and Deanna Biers...or one copy of each of them...were also aboard, doing the same thing. _Yes, the plan is working perfectly, _Leoben thought to himself. _This liner will be towed to the nearest safe port and the passengers will be taken off. The whole thing will be a madhouse. We'll be able to slip away with no problem. _He smiled again._ Then we can book passage on another liner...for Earth. _


	43. Chapter 43

CHAPTER 43

THE ALPHA RETICULI SYSTEM, 12 AUGUST 2064

A small flash of light marked the emergence of a Colonial Raptor from a wormhole into the ring of chaotically moving icy space debris which encircled the Alpha Reticuli star system. In the cockpit, Sharon Valerii sat next to the Silicate, Elroy-El 588. She looked out upon the alien star system with interest.

Alpha Reticuli was a bright yellow star, similar to the star the humans called Sol, but almost four times as large. It was located about 165 light years from the Earth, and was connected by wormhole with two other star systems under Chig control. However, her Silicate companion had informed her that the Chigs had found nothing of interest here...the star was brighter than they liked, and it emitted certain types of radiation which made lingering in the vicinity of it hazardous to their form of life. As for the seven planets it hosted, these were also hostile to Chig life and contained no remarkable resources justifying the expense of setting up a domed colony to exploit them. The Chigs had maintained a communications relay here near the wormhole, and a small military post on the third planet to protect it. Beyond that, the system was uninhabited.

But remarkably, Sharon had detected low level Cylon signals coming from this system. Now, hidden among the swirling, chaotic debris field at the outer edge of the system, she got up and went to the ECO's station. Sitting down, she turned on her DRADIS on passive scan, and also began scanning for any Chig signal activity. As she did so, she sighed. This had been Helo's station, when they had crewed a Raptor together while serving on the GALACTICA. Despite everything that had happened to her, deep inside, she knew she still loved him. She shuddered with disgust as she tried to push that thought away from herself. _No, _she thought morosely. _I can't love him. He is human, and they must all be exterminated for what they did to me. _She looked intently at her displays.

"No sign of any Chig signal activity," she said. "But there is definite Cylon signal activity emanating from the third planet."

Elroy-El looked at her. "That is odd," he said. "The Chigs would not have surrendered the planet without a fight."

Sharon looked back at him. "If the Cylons attacked this system while the local wormhole was inactive, but did not destroy the Chig communications relay, how long would it be until the Chigs were aware that an attack had occurred?"

Elroy looked off into space as his electronic brain pondered the problem. Then the crosshair-like pupils in his artificial eyes focused again on Sharon. "Hmmm," he said in his silky, sonorous voice, "that's an interesting question...yes, it is. It might be quite a while. The garrison in this system had only infrequent contact with other Chig worlds."

Sharon sat back in her chair, a thoughtful look on her face. "So, the Cylons might have quite some time to establish a base here, without anyone knowing about it," she said. "Sounds like just what John would be looking for." She looked at her DRADIS. "I can't tell from passive scans what exactly is going on near the third planet. There is some sort of orbital installation there. Did the Chigs have anything like that there?"

"No," Elroy said.

"The Chig communications relay does appear to be intact near the wormhole," Sharon said softly. "Yes, it does seem to all be falling into place."

Sharon turned back to her console and tapped a few buttons on the communications panel. "Cylon base," she said. "This is Sharon Valerii. I require your assistance."

Suddenly, the screen on her communications console lit up, and she was looking at the face of...herself. Her alter ego looked at her with suspicion. "So, the Traitor has returned to us," she said. "John will be most anxious to see you again...before he has you boxed."

"I've come to realize that John was right, after all," Sharon said, her voice hard. "And I have information that John will find very interesting."

As she spoke, there was a flash of light just outside the ring of ice debris where the Raptor was hiding. Sharon looked out the front canopy and saw a Cylon Basestar launching raiders. She looked back at the other Sharon on her communications screen. "A basestar just jumped here," she said.

"An escort," her alter ego said, smiling. "Surrender yourself peacefully, Traitor, or be destroyed."

"Wait!," she said. "You've got to believe me! I'm not a traitor! I've got vital information for John!"

"What information?" her alter ego demanded.

Sharon looked at her adversary, a hard expression on her face. "The location of Earth," she said. "And information about the defenses there. I think John will be most interested in that, don't you?" She smiled. "And I have a passenger here with me, too, whose knowledge of the Chigs should prove invaluable too."

"Passenger?" the other Sharon asked, a look of surprise on her face. Then the suspicion returned. "Who is with you?"

"He is an artificial life form who calls himself Elroy-El 588," Sharon said. "He was formerly in service to the Chigs, but wishes to serve us now."

"I...see," the other said, an odd smile on her face. "All right, I agree to give you safe passage here. I will recall the raiders and the Basestar. You may approach our base."

As Sharon watched, the raiders approaching her Raptor suddenly turned around, and went back to the Basestar. Shortly afterward, the Basestar itself flashed with light as it jumped away. Sharon turned to Elroy. She grinned "I think we're home, Elroy."

Sharon returned to the pilot's seat, and powered up her sublight engines. She plotted a course for the third planet. About an hour later, they arrived and assumed orbit. Sharon saw that the orbiting installation was, in fact, a Cylon communications relay, protected by several dangerous looking defense satellites. A Basestar...whether the one which had earlier accosted them near the debris field, or another, she could not tell...was also in orbit around the planet. Looking off in the distance, she could see several others nearby. More ominously, she could see, glittering in the light of the bright yellow star, several large clouds of space junk floating nearby which evidently was all that remained of the Chig capital ship and other Chig defense installations which Elroy had told her formerly defended this star system.

"John's been busy, I see," she said with wonder.

"Yes," Elroy said. "He has."

She heard the voice of her alter-ego come in through her headset.

"Coordinates of our base on the surface are being sent to you now," the voice said. "Please proceed here at once."

"Affirmative," Sharon said. Sharon powered up her engines again and began descending toward the planet surface. The planet itself had an oxygen atmosphere, and was mostly covered by water. Indeed, less than five percent of it was dry land, and that consisted of small, volcanic islands scattered throughout the immense oceans which covered the planet. A few minutes later, the Cylon base came into view. The buildings looked not unlike the more modern buildings in many Caprican cities...blocky, made of concrete and steel, with glass-covered sides. The base was surrounded by numerous defensive installations, including a number of large, coil-like structures with which Sharon was unfamiliar. She could see that there was a landing port for spacecraft near the largest building, where several raiders were parked. Sharon guided the Raptor down onto a pad next to a Heavy Raider, and cut the engines.

"Well," she said to Elroy. "We're here. Let's go."

Elroy hesitated, but he followed Sharon's lead. She got up and went to the cabin door. She hit the button to unlock the door, and it hissed as it swung upward. The ramp extended itself downward to make contact with the ground, and Sharon stepped outside, followed, a moment later, by Elroy.

They could see a "reception committee" of several mechanical Cylons was already approaching, led by the another Sharon...whether the one Sharon had spoken to previously, or another copy, she did not know. She was unsurprised to see that she was accompanied by a copy of John Cavil as well.

Elroy looked with amazement on the huge, hulking figures of the mechanical Cylons, with their red eyes which flashed slowly from left to right across their metallic faces. _Silicates,_ he thought to himself. _Primitive, yes, but they are Silicates. So Cavil John Cavil was telling the truth, after all. _Then his eyes widened as he saw Cavil. "Cavil John Cavil," he said softly. But in his electronic mind, he knew that there were many copies of Cavil John Cavil. Sharon Valerii had told him so. Would this one know what Elroy had done to the other Cavil John Cavil, all those months ago on Kazbek? What should he do? The randomizer inside him worked again. _Take a chance,_ it told him. _Wait and see the cards they hold._

The other Cylons approached to within a few yards of them. The mechanical Cylons stood by menacingly while John Cavil looked at them for a moment, then stepped forward.

"Welcome home, Sharon," he said, smiling warmly. He extended his hand to her in greeting. Sharon hesitated, then stepped forward and took his hand. John pulled her into his embrace. Sharon felt emotion well up within her, and she shuddered as she cried into his shoulder. John smiled again as he held her. "Welcome home," he said again. "Welcome home." He glanced over at the other Sharon, and nodded slightly.

The other looked at Elroy, then looked at the mechanical Cylons. "Take that..._thing_...into custody," she said. The mechanical Cylons quickly stepped forward and seized Elroy-El in the the steel-like grip of their metallic hands.

"So you do remember me," Elroy said softly, looking at Cavil.

Cavil looked at him with a hard expression. "Remember you?" He shook his head. "No, not directly. It was not me who you tortured to death on that God-forsaken planet," he said. "But the memories of that one have been passed to us all." He smiled maliciously. "We've been looking forward to making your acquaintance again."

Sharon pulled away from John and looked at Elroy in horror. "You...tortured John to death?" she exclaimed. "What kind of...thing...are you?"

Elroy affected a sad-sack expression. "I was a humor model," he said in his silky way. "But I...fell in with bad company. I was a bad, bad boy." Then he smiled, slowly. "But I can be a good boy too. And I can help you, if you will let me."

"Take him away," John said, waving his hand dismissively. The mechanical Cylons began dragging Elroy away. Elroy looked over his shoulder. "Now that's not very nice...no, it isn't," he said "Not hospitable. No, not at all."

But John did not respond. Instead, he looked at Sharon. "You're very fortunate. That is a very dangerous...thing...you brought with you. He could have killed you with no more thought than we would give to a fly."

Sharon shuddered. "I had no idea," she said softly.

"I know," John said. "And now, let's go to my office. I think we need to talk."

Sharon nodded, and with John and the other copy of herself, she walked away toward the Cylon buildings nearby. "It's good to be home," she said.


	44. Chapter 44

CHAPTER 44

AEROTECH SHIPYARDS, IN MARS ORBIT, 20 AUGUST 2064

United Nations Secretary General Diane Hayden stood, with General Edward Wewick, President Laura Roslin of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, and Admiral William Adama at an observation port, overlooking one of the huge space docks of the Aerotech Corporation's Shipyard Number One, orbiting the planet Mars, listening as Howard Sewell described progress on the construction of the new war vessels being constructed for the Earth Defense Forces.

"The vessel you see below you is the new U.S.S. SARATOGA, which is replacing the space carrier of the JOHN F. KENNEDY class of the same name, which was deemed to be too damaged during the Battle of Kappa Reticuli to be worth repairing and is being broken up. She is the first of a new class of vessels which will eventually replace both the carriers and the battleships of our current fleet. Although not quite as large, she will be similar in function to the Colonial Battlestars."

"Most impressive, Mr. Sewell," Wewick said. He spoke softly into Secretary General Hayden's ear, describing the vessel as he saw it, bearing in mind her blindness. She nodded with approval.

"Yes, she is, isn't she?" Sewell said, positively beaming with pride. "She is equipped with no less than FOUR of our most powerful Kinetic Particle Weapons, supplemented by a combined battery of heavy Kinetic Energy Weapons...that is, rapid-fire guns...and high-wattage laser cannon up forward to give her increased anti-ship capability. She'll still have to get in close for these to be effective, but just one of these vessels should be capable of taking out a Cylon Basestar, even with their plasma shielding. She is also equipped with a full complement of improved Phalanx missiles and close-in-defense weapons...Spartan missiles and KEWs. Her armor plating and radiation shielding is half-again as thick as that on the old KENNEDY-class, which should give these vessels more staying power in a toe-to-toe fight with the Cylons."

"That's wonderful!" President Roslin said.

"It sounds like these vessels should do the job," Admiral Adama added. How many are under construction?"

"At the moment," Sewell replied, "ten of them here in the Sol System, and a further five at Groombridge 34. The SARATOGA is finished, and is even now being loaded with supplies, aircraft, and crewmen for her "shake-down" cruise.[1] The others will be completed over the next one to three weeks. We also have a number of new cruisers under construction as well, similar to our old PERRY class but with strengthened internal ribbing to withstand the stress of the FTL jump engines. Last but not least, those vessels of the fleet which took part in the recent campaign and can be salvaged have been repaired and returned to service."

"That is excellent news, Howard," Secretary General Hayden said. "After the scares and crises we've experienced over the last month, it's good to finally hear some of that. The Cylons almost certainly know where Earth is now. It's just a matter of time before they come. We must be ready. Do all you can to speed the completion of the other vessels."

"Yes, Madame Secretary General," Sewell said formally. Then he smiled. "Why don't you all come to my office for coffee and donuts. We have a Krispy-Creme store right here on this station." The others agreed, and together, they left the observation lounge.

[1] For those questioning the speed with which the vessel was completed, construction began before the Battle of Kappa Reticuli. Aerotech produces the materials it needs almost completely in space, mining and refining them in the asteroid belt, which greatly increases the speed of construction, as does the automated nature of the shipyards. They are also, where possible, using component parts based on designs from the old KENNEDY class carriers and VEACH class battleships, which means much less retooling. If Aerotech wasn't capable of producing very large spacecraft quickly and in significant numbers, given the scale of losses Earth was suffering in the Chig War, Earth would probably have been conquered.

Excerpts from Jane's Space Vessels of the Chig and Cylon Wars, Hugh Chattingham, Editor. London: Jane's Information Group, 2071.

HENRY JACKSON WHITEHORSE CLASS SUPERCARRIER

CREW: 4790  
>LENGTH: 3250 feet long<br>MAIN ARMAMENT: 4 Kinetic Particle Weapon [1], two on the top hull surface and one along each side surface; 10 large anti-ship gun turrets mounted in the forward section of the main hull, mounting 3 guns each; 30 Laser Pulse Cannon batteries ranging in strength from 2 GW to 50 MW; 90 Phalanx Missile launchers [2] (can carry either conventional or nuclear warheads) in six pods of fifteen launchers each; 144 KEW/Torpedo Launchers [3]. Also point-defense installations consisting of Spartan Space-to-Space Missile launchers.  
>AIR WING: 280 Hammerhead Fighters; 14 Stingray Recon Planes; 24 Barracuda Fighter Bombers; 4 SWAC Spaceborne Warning and Control Vehicles; 26 ISSAPC Personnel Carriers; 10 LC-19 Landing Craft.<p>

The WHITEHORSE class Supercarrier, named after Captain Henry J. Whitehorse, whose gallant sacrifice contributed so much to the victory at the Battle of Kappa Reticuli, is the Earth equivalent to a Kobolian Colonial Battlestar. It combines the functions and weaponry of the former KENNEDY class space carrier and the former VEACH class battleship in one powerful package. In addition, it incorporates the new FTL jump engines based on Kobolian technology, and certain other ideas and technologies borrowed from the Colonial Battlestars.

[1] The Kinetic Particle Weapon, or KPW, is the primary anti-ship weapon carried by Earth vessels. It is a very large particle cannon mounted on the upper hull and running the entire length of the ship. It fires a powerful beam of highly-charged particles.

[3] Phalanx missiles are long-range guided bombardment missiles capable of carrying nuclear or conventional warheads (think of a something like a cross between the Harpoon and the Tomahawk).

[3] The KEW/Torpedo Launcher is a gun-like weapon capable of firing regular cannon rounds or unguided rocket-propelled torpedoes. The cannon rounds and torpedoes pack a conventional high explosive charge, and are used primarily for point-defense against incoming missiles and fighter-bomber spacecraft.

ATLANTA CLASS CRUISER  
>CREW: Approximately 1200<br>LENGTH: 1450 feet long  
>ARMAMENT: One Kinetic Particle Weapon; 15 Laser Pulse Cannon batteries ranging in strength from 1 GW to 50 MW; 30 Phalanx Missile launchers (in two pods of 15 launchers each); 84 KEWTorpedo Launchers . Also point-defense installations consisting of Spartan Space-to-Space Missile launchers.  
>AIR WING: None.<p>

The ATLANTA Class, like its predecessor, the PERRY class protects and supports the larger vessels of the main space fleet. It also is frequently used for escorting civilian merchant convoys and other duties away from the main battle fleets. Its kinetic particle weapon is the same one carried on the former PERRY class, and not in the same class as that carried by the larger ships, but still packs a significant punch. Indeed, the main difference between the two classes is that the ATLANTA class has been lengthened and strengthened to accomodate the new FTL jump engines.


	45. Chapter 45

CHAPTER 45

MARS ORBIT, 21 AUGUST 2064

On the morning of August 21, 2064, Captain Shane Vansen sat on one of the bench seats lining one wall of an ISSAPC (Intra-Solar-System Armored Personnel Carrier) as it transported her to the new U.S.S. SARATOGA, which was scheduled to leave the Aerotech docks in Mars orbit the next day for its shakedown cruise. The "Wildcards" of the 58th Squadron of United States Marine Corps Space Aviator Cavalry had been, since the original U.S.S. SARATOGA had been declared too damaged to be worth repairing and decommissioned several months ago, stationed "ashore" at the United States Marine Corps base at Camp Pendleton, outside San Diego. Now the new SARATOGA was nearly ready to get underway, and the Wildcards were on their way to take their places among the complement of fighting men and women who would transform her from an empty metal shell into a deadly fighting machine.

The journey would take over a day, and as the hours passed, Vansen had the opportunity to think back on the past several months. Partly as a reward for their outstanding service during the Chig War and partly because, quite frankly, the brass had nothing much else for them to do while their ship was out of commission, the Wildcards had been granted frequent Liberties authorizing them to leave Camp Pendleton and go into San Diego for R & R. She smiled. There were many things about this particular Earthside posting that she would fondly remember.

Vansen's eyes happened to alight on the handsome, boyish face of Lieutenant Cooper Hawkes, who was, at that moment, seated across from her in a bench seat along the opposite wall of the APC. Hawkes saw her look at him, and smiled. She smiled back, and then looked away, blushing slightly. Many of those fond memories revolved around Hawkes.

Vansen had struck up a close friendship with Captain Kara Thrace, one of the pilots stationed aboard the Colonial Battlestar GALACTICA. Several times, the two had been issued furlough or liberty at the same time, and they had spent much time together in San Diego. Thrace had gently cajoled her to take a chance on Cooper Hawkes, who both could see was clearly smitten with Vansen. Vansen had resisted at first, uncertain of the wisdom of pursuing a possible romantic relationship with an In-Vitro less than seven years out of the birthing tank. As she had told Thrace, in many ways, Hawkes was still just a child.

But in many other important ways, Hawkes was a man. And a very attractive one, who clearly adored Vansen. She had agreed to go out to dinner with him, and despite her initial misgivings, the evening had turned better than she could possibly have imagined.

Hawkes had surprised her by hiring a limousine to take them to one of the most expensive restaurants in town. He had been dressed in a well-tailored tuxedo, and gave her a box which, when opened, revealed an absolutely stunning black dress, in her correct size. The dress, Vansen had noted when she put it on, was cut to accentuate all her best features but without being too revealing. Vansen smiled as she remembered it. _He has good taste in dresses,_ she thought with amusement. _I wonder who taught him about that stuff? _She suspected the hand of Kara Thrace at work there, but Starbuck denied it.

After a wonderful dinner, they had taken in a movie, and in the darkness of the theater, Vansen...in a happy mood after having had two margaritas with dinner...had accepted his tentative, nervous movements toward physical intimacy. He had laid his hand on her knee, and she had not removed it. Then he had looked into her eyes, and she into his. Then they had kissed, and Vansen remembered the chill which went up her spine as their lips met. _He was certainly better at it this time around than he was the first time he tried it,_ she thought to herself, smiling again. _I wonder if Starbuck coached him on that as well?_

The first time Coop had kissed her was aboard the ISSAPC taking the 58th Squadron to Mars for their very first mission together as a squadron. Shane had, since she was five years old, had recurring nightmares about the A.I.'s who had killed her parents. She and Coop had been asleep in their racks, next to each other, when Shane had one of those nightmares and started shaking and moaning in her sleep. Coop had heard her and had awakened her, checking to see if she was all right. They had talked briefly, and then suddenly, Hawkes had grabbed her and roughly forced his tongue into her mouth. Vansen had given him a right-cross in return, and she had been wary of him for a long time afterward. The second time, in the movie theater, he had been gentle, brushing his lips lightly against hers, almost playfully. It had excited her so much that she had felt her own tongue dart out, almost of its own volition, seeking his out and dueling with it.

After the first kiss, there had been several others, and by the time the movie was over, they were both feeling pretty hot and bothered. As they came out of the theater, Coop had asked her if she wanted to go back to the barracks, and she had said no. There was a Holiday Inn just a block from the theater, and Coop dismissed the limo driver...after Vansen had explained to him that the driver would expect a tip. Then they had walked, hand in hand, to the motel.

Their coupling had been an intense experience for both of them. Cooper had been hesitant at first, unsure of what to do. But, in the end, he had proven the most attentive and sensitive lover Vansen had ever had, eager to learn exactly what pleased her, exactly where and how to touch her, and enjoying, with an almost childlike sense of wonder, her reactions as he explored her body with his hands, lips, and tongue. And then, when she could take no more, she had pushed him onto his back and then pleasured him in turn, taking him into her mouth first and then mounting him, stripping his virginity from him in a wild ride that left them both exhausted and completely spent.[1]

Afterward, as they lay in each other's arms, they had talked for hours, sharing their hopes and their fears, and telling each other about their past lives before joining the Marines. Cooper had listened with fascination to Shane's stories of life with her family, something that he, himself, had never had, but which he secretly craved. Then, to Shane's surprise, Coop had opened up to her, describing the pain and horror of his own early life. He told her of his "education" at a secret "Training Facility"outside Philadelphia, where newly decanted In-Vitros were trained to become obedient, unquestioning killing machines in the service of the United States government. Hawkes had demonstrated an undesirable "defect," namely independent thought, and had been sentenced to termination...euphemistically termed "erasure"...by the Monitors who ran the facility. But Hawkes had escaped, and lived for several years on the run, where he had tried, with varying degrees of success, to fit into "natural-born" society. Then, while working on the docks in Philadelphia, his true nature had been discovered by a gang of natural-born bigots who had nearly lynched him. He had managed to get away from them, and had chased the ringleader straight into the arms of the police. The police had naturally sided with the natural born over the In-Vitro, and Hawkes had been hauled before a judge who had sentenced him to a term in the Marine Corps in lieu of prison time. By the time they both drifted off to sleep, Shane felt she finally understood Coop and why he was the way he was, and they both realized just how much each had needed this release of the tension and pain which had built up during, and before, the war.

The smile on Vansen's face faded as she remembered what had happened after that wonderful night, however. Hawkes had never revealed the full array of the intimate details of his early life to anyone, and now he felt vulnerable. He had gone on about how he had "talked too much," and despite Shane's efforts to convince him otherwise, he had withdrawn from her and a wall had gone up between them. There had been no more dates, no more wonderful nights. Vansen sighed. She supposed it was for the best. Shane hoped one day to have a family and a life outside the military. Coop, she knew, would never have a normal life. The Marine Corps was the best place for him, and would likely be the only family he would ever know. She knew she would treasure the brief time she'd had with him, and the gift of insight into his soul which Coop had given her, and would likely give to no-one else during his lifetime. They would remain good friends and comrades, but it could never be more than that, ever again.

Shane looked around the APC at her other comrades. She could see Nathan West, sleeping in his seat next to Cooper Hawkes. Nathan had spent much of his time with Kylen Celina, his pretty blond fiancée who had been captured by the Chigs during the attack on the Tellus Colony, held in captivity during the war, and then released per the terms of the treaty which ended the war. Unfortunately, West's reunion with his lost love had not gone much better, in the end, than Vansen's own liaison with Coop.

Kylen had returned from captivity a different woman. She had undergone torture and experimentation by the Chigs and the A.I.'s who served them, including use as a "breeder" whose body was used to gestate cloned human babies until they were viable enough to be transferred to accelerated growth chambers...similar to the tanks in which In-Vitros were grown on Earth...where they grew to adulthood in less time than a normal human pregnancy would have taken and then were put to work in hazardous facilities like the Tylium Mines at Kazbek.

West had known that the Chigs were cloning copies of the Tellus and Vesta survivors...he had encountered a clone of Kylen on Kazbek during the 58th's captivity there. Thankfully, for his own sanity, he knew nothing of the horrors it involved, or the other tortures the survivors had endured, as upon their return, Aerotech had forced the survivors to sign secrecy agreements forbidding them from revealing these experiences to anyone. But what West did know was that whatever had happened, Kylen had been traumatized by it. Shortly after her return, she had withdrawn into herself, in an almost autistic state, and had barely acknowledged his presence when he came to visit her at the mental health facility where she had been confined for treatment and for her own safety. Nevertheless, Nathan had stayed by her side, and he continued to hope that Kylen would eventually return to him in mind as well as in body.

Vansen's eyes moved from West to the seats where Paul Wang and Vanessa Damphousse were sitting, very close to each other, engaged in whispered conversation. Wang and Damphousse, Vansen knew, had spent much of their R&R together, and although Shane didn't know for sure, she strongly suspected that the two had spent part of that R&R time in bed.

The rest of the 58th Squadron...Colonel McQueen and Lieutenants Kelly Winslow, Tom Kelcher, Bill Lockhart, and Jack Sullivan...were all asleep in their bunks in the sleeping compartment of the APC. Bored by the quiet, Vansen turned and looked out of a porthole. She could see that they were quite close to Mars now. _Five or six hours to go now,_ she thought to herself. She yawned. _I think I'll go get some rack time myself._ Getting up, she went to the sleeping compartment, found herself an empty bunk and lay down. Soon she was fast asleep.

She was rudely awakened by the klaxon announcing their final approach to the Aerotech shipyards where the new U.S.S. SARATOGA awaited them. "Attention!," she heard the voice of the APC's pilot, Captain Daniels, announce over the intercom. "We are now approaching the Mars Spacedocks. Please assume your landing positions and buckle up, people!" Vansen saw that she was the only one left in the sleeping compartment. She got up, quickly slipped her uniform back on, and went into the main compartment, returning to her seat.

She looked out of the porthole again before she sat down and buckled the safety restraints around herself. She was amazed by what she saw. The new SARATOGA was nearly twice as long as the old JOHN F. KENNEDY-class carrier had been, and it fairly bristled with weapons. She smiled appreciatively. _That is one big can of kick-ass, just waiting to be opened, _she thought to herself.

The ISSAPC flew into one of the landing bays of the huge supercarrier, and once the ship had set down and the bay was repressurized, Colonel McQueen unbuckled himself and stood up. "All right, 58th, let's move it!" he ordered.

The squadron quickly spilled out of the APC and lined up, at attention, on the hangar deck. To their surprise, they found Rear Admiral...formerly Commodore...Glen Ross awaiting them.[2] Colonel McQueen saluted. "The 58th Squadron, United States Marine Corps Space Aviator Cavalry, reporting for duty, Sir!" he said crisply. "We are honored that you chose to greet us personally, Admiral," he added.

Ross returned the salute. "It's good to have you all here," Ross said. "The SARATOGA wouldn't be the SARATOGA without the Wildcards," he added, grinning. "Sadly, you're the only one of our former squadrons who were reassigned to the SARATOGA this time around." He looked each of the Marines in the face, making eye contact with each of them, then said, "At ease!"

"Thank you, Sir," Colonel McQueen said. The Wildcards assumed the more comfortable "at ease" stance while their commander conferred with the Admiral.

"Wildcards...except for you, Colonel," Ross said, gesturing to the young ensign, brightly clad in spotless "whites," who was standing nearby, "Ensign Nakamura will escort you to your quarters. Colonel, I would like to speak with you privately, if I may."

"Of course, Sir," McQueen said. Turning to the rest of the Wildcards, he said, "All right, you heard him. Dismissed!"

"This way," Nakamura, a pretty young woman of Japanese heritage, said. The Wildcards obediently followed her out of the hangar bay.

"Shall we adjourn to my Ready Room?" Ross asked.

"Ready Room?," McQueen asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

Ross laughed. "Yes," he said. "With all the extra space aboard the new WHITEHORSE-class carriers, the command and control island is somewhat larger and more luxurious than it was on the old SARATOGA. Some geek at Aerotech who's watched too many STAR TREK re-runs is to blame, no doubt."

McQueen smiled. He'd watched some episodes of STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION in the hospital while recuperating from his wounds, before being assigned to command of the 58th squadron. He remembered the almost hotel lobby-like appearance of the bridge of the starship depicted in the series...plush chairs, deep pile carpeting, the works. He'd thought it ridiculous, but he knew that a lot of people still loved the show, over sixty years later. Putting those thoughts out of his mind, he replied, "Yes, Sir. I look forward to seeing it."

They walked together, making small talk as they did so, down the corridors which connected the hangar decks with the island, then on the elevator which took them up to the bridge. McQueen looked around at the new bridge. Much of it was familiar...Aerotech had made use of as many components as possible from the old KENNEDY-class when designing the WHITEHORSE-class...but there were a number of new consoles and equipment which he did not recognize. When he inquired about them, Ross informed him that some of them were associated with the new DRADIS systems, based on Kobolian technology, which supplemented the LIDAR sets with which he was familiar. Others were associated with the new computers which had been redesigned to be resistant to Cylon infiltration...one entire computer served no other purpose but to act as a receptacle for the highly advanced firewall program designed to block any intrusion by Cylon hackers and viruses...and which could be de-networked quickly if a Cylon virus somehow got into the system. Still others controlled the ship-killing heavy gun and laser-cannon batteries clustered together at the bow of the ship, known as the "Captain's Hand," another innovation borrowed from the Colonial Battlestars.

Ross gestured toward a door at the rear of the bridge. McQueen nodded and followed the Admiral through it. "Welcome to my Ready Room," Ross said.

McQueen smiled as he looked around. To his amazement, the room actually did somewhat resemble the Ready Room on that old TV show. A fish tank was set into one wall, and another wall was lined with framed pictures of all the vessels which had borne the name of U.S.S. SARATOGA, going all the way back to a wooden sloop in the Continental Navy, commissioned in 1780.

"I think you're right about that Star Trek geek," he said, smiling wryly.

Ross grinned, and sat down behind the large black desk which filled one end of the room. "Have a seat, Colonel," he said, gesturing to a comfortable chair in front of the desk. After McQueen took his seat, the Admiral spoke again.

"Colonel McQueen," he said, "it goes without saying that I'll want you to command the SARATOGA's air group again."

"Thank you, Sir," McQueen said, nodding. "I'm honored." He smiled again. "But that's not why you asked me here today, is it?"

Ross smiled. "No, indeed, Colonel," he said. "As Commander of the Air Group, I need to fill you in on the details of our mission."

"You mean this is not going to be a simple shake-down cruise," McQueen said, leaning forward in his chair, his interest instantly piqued.

"No, Colonel, it is not," Ross replied. "Do you recall the incident at Tau Ceti with that star liner, the Q.E. II?"

"Yes," McQueen said, nodding. "The Cylons caught the liner as it was exiting the wormhole into that system, boarded it, and killed over a hundred passengers. They also apparently abducted the captain of the vessel. The liner got a message off to Earth Forces Command in that system and the Cylon Basestar jumped away before the cavalry got there. Otherwise, based on past behavior, they would probably have destroyed the liner."

"Correct," Ross said. "Well, as it turns out, the Cylons were playing a game within a game there. We later found out that the message to Earth Forces Command was sent by the Cylons themselves, for the express purpose of bringing out a rescue mission from which they would flee, so as to give credibility to their actions in not destroying the liner."

"How did we discover the ruse?" McQueen asked.

"Well, it seems we caught a lucky break," Ross said, a grim look on his face. "The Cylons left behind several infiltrators who later attempted to enter the Sol system. One of them was stopped by an alert security officer at the John Glenn Spaceport in the Groombridge 34 system, who recognized him from the 'Wanted' posters which have been distributed to security personnel at all Earth facilities since we became aware of the risk of Cylon infiltration. Under interrogation with the truth serum developed by Aerotech, he revealed the identities of the other Cylon infiltrators, as well as which vessels they were traveling on as they made their way to Earth. Although we can't be a hundred percent certain, we think we got all of them."

"Well, that's wonderful news," McQueen said. "But what does it have to do with the mission?"

"We learned something else following our interrogation of the captured agents," Ross said. "It seems that the Cylons have established a base in this sector of the galaxy, where they are amassing supplies and building their forces for their assault on the Earth. We know where that base is." He got up, and walked over to a large star map which hung on one of the walls. He pointed at a star. "This is Alpha Reticuli, a Chig system...or at least, it was. The Cylons have it now."

McQueen whistled as he got up to stand beside Ross. Staring at the map, he said, "That's what...less than two hundred light years from Earth. With their jump engines, they could be here in a day." He suddenly looked at Ross. "Haven't the Chigs tried to retake the system?"

"No," Ross said. "It seems the Cylons did this very cleverly. The Alpha Reticuli System was a low-priority system for the Chigs. There's nothing there to warrant a large-scale presence on their part. None of the worlds there offer much in the way of resources, and none are habitable for their form of life. Were it not for the wormhole there, and the communications satellite the Chigs operated in the system, the Chigs would likely not have bothered with it at all. The small Chig garrison based on the third planet, charged with guarding the wormhole and the satellite, had only infrequent contact with other Chig forces. The Cylons came in and overwhelmed the garrison on the third planet, and left the Chig satellite intact. The Chigs never realized the Cylons had seized the system until we told them."

Ross turned and went back to his seat, and McQueen did likewise. "And therein lies our mission," Ross said, steepling his fingers in front of him. "The SARATOGA, along with GALACTICA and PEGASUS...the only three of our vessels currently with FTL jump capability...are going to rendezvous with a Chig fleet at the Kappa Reticuli Star System in three days. Since the Chig vessels will not have FTL jump capability, wormhole travel will be necessary from that point on. A wormhole will open in the Kappa Reticuli system in four days from now, through which we will pass, along with the Chig fleet. This wormhole will take us to the Achilles Region, where we will rendezvous with additional Chig fleet units. Five days later, another wormhole will open which will take us from the Achilles Region to Alpha Reticuli." Ross smiled grimly. "Once there, we will assist the Chigs in retaking the system, and ensure the destruction of the Cylon base there."

"Yes, Sir," McQueen said, nodding.

"Colonel, most of the Hammerhead Squadrons which have been assigned to the SARATOGA have never flown together before," Ross said, leaning forward and looking intently into McQueen's eyes. "They were cobbled together from the survivors of the carriers lost at Kappa Reticuli. I am going to need you to work with them intensively in the short time we have available to get them combat ready."

"I understand, Sir," McQueen said. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will, Colonel," Ross replied. "And that brings me to the second reason why I've asked you here today. With the larger air group you'll be managing here on the new SARATOGA will come a great deal more responsibility and paperwork, and I don't think those duties are any longer compatible with your retaining your post as commanding officer of the 58th Squadron. Captain Vansen has been your XO. Do you think she's ready for squadron command?"

"I do, Sir," McQueen said.

"Fine," Ross said, reaching into one of his desk drawers and retrieving a small black box. He handed it to McQueen, who opened it. McQueen smiled, and closed the box again.

"Dismissed," Ross said.

McQueen stood and saluted. Ross returned the salute, then McQueen turned and left the room. He had already been on the new SARATOGA during it's construction, and knew where the 58th's quarters were. As he approached the open doorway, he could hear the pilots of the 58th chatting about the upcoming mission.

"A shakedown cruise," Paul Wang was saying. "Sounds pretty relaxing."

"Pretty unlikely we'll run into any Cylons," Vanessa Damphousse replied. "Still, it'll be interesting to see what this ship can do."

"It'll be nice to go out on a mission and not have to worry...too much... about coming back alive," Shane Vansen said as McQueen stepped inside.

"Don't count on it," McQueen said. The rest of the 58th quickly stood to attention and saluted. McQueen returned the salute.

"Now listen up," McQueen said. "I've just learned that this is not going to be a shakedown cruise. We're going into combat. So get your minds out of R & R and focused on the mission. You'll get full details at a briefing at 0800 tomorrow. For tonight, go get some chow, then get some sleep. You'll need it."

"Yes, Sir!," the 58th chorused.

"One other thing," McQueen said. "I've been removed as commander of the 58th. I am now going to be Air Group Commander for this vessel, full time." He looked at Vansen. "Effective immediately, Major Vansen will be your new squadron C.O." He smiled, and handed Vansen the small black box which Ross had given to him. He looked at Nathan West. "West, you'll be her X.O., and a promotion will be coming through for you as well."

"Yes, Sir!," West replied.

Vansen opened the box and saw the small gold oak leaves inside. Her face split by a big grin, she snapped back to attention and saluted again. "Thank you, Sir," she said. "I'll do my best."

"Dismissed!," McQueen said, and left the room.

The other members of the 58th gathered around Vansen and West, congratulating them and slapping them on the back. Vansen pinned her new oak leaves onto her collar. She handed her Captain's bars to West, who took them and smiled before pinning them on. Vansen looked over at Cooper Hawkes, who was sitting on his bunk, watching her and smiling. He gave her a thumbs up. She grinned in return.

Later, in the mess hall, as the rest of the 58th bantered, chatting about their recent leave or the upcoming mission, Vansen made her way though a plate of S.O.S. [3] in silence, her mind focused on the mission to come. It had come as a complete shock to her, as it had to the other members of the 58th, that they were about to go into combat again. The fact that she would now be commanding the Wildcards made the whole situation all the more shocking. Would she be able to handle it? _Well,_ she thought to herself, _I'll do my best for them. That's all I can do._ She took another bite of her less-than-appetizing meal, then sighed softly. _I just hope my best is good enough. _

[1] The events of the S:AAB episode "R&R" never took place in this timeline. The 58th never visited the Aerotech pleasure ship "Bacchus" and Cooper Hawkes never met, or slept with, the In-Vitro prostitute, Suzy.

[2] The rank of "Commodore" has a confusing history in U.S. Navy usage. In some cases it has designated what would, today, be called a "Rear Admiral, Lower Half," while in others it has designated a senior Captain in command of a squadron of more than one vessel. Its exact meaning in the world of SPACE: ABOVE AND BEYOND was never clarified, so I am going to claim a bit of artistic license and state that in the space service, a Commodore is equivalent to a "Rear Admiral, Lower Half," or a "one-star admiral," and a "Rear Admiral, Upper Half" would be simply a "Rear Admiral," or a two-star admiral. This would seem to be supported by the collar insignia on Ross's khaki uniform shirt as seen in the series, which, when examined closely, appears to be a single star.

[3] S.O.S., for those without military background who are unfamiliar with it, means "Shit on a Shingle." It is a dish of beef (either chipped beef or hamburger) cooked and served with some sort of gravy (usually a white cream gravy) over toast.


	46. Chapter 46

CHAPTER 46

THE KAPPA RETICULI STAR SYSTEM, 24 AUGUST 2064

In the blackness of deep space, just outside the Kappa Reticuli Star System, there were three bright flashes of light as the supercarrier U.S.S. SARATOGA, along with the Battlestars GALACTICA and PEGASUS, exited the artificial wormholes which had brought them here from Earth. On the bridge of the SARATOGA, Admiral Glenn Ross, wearing his customary khakis and dark blue baseball cap with gold braid on the brim and a "U.S.S. SARATOGA" patch on the front of it, looked over at Lieutenant Rodriguez, a short, stocky Mexican-American man who served as his communications officer.

"Open a channel to Chig High Command," he said.

"Aye, Sir," Rodriguez said. "Channel open."

"This is Admiral Glenn Ross, commanding the United Earth Task Force," Ross said. "As per our agreement, we are standing down outside the perimeter of your star system, awaiting further instructions."

After a slight delay, a voice...it had a slightly mechanical quality to it, or so Ross thought...came over his headset. "Greetings, Commander. Remain where you are. An escort will soon arrive to lead you into our system."

"Acknowledged," Ross said. He pressed a button on his console, then spoke again. "Ross to GALACTICA and PEGASUS. Hold your positions. A Chig escort is on its way."

"Acknowledgements are coming in from GALACTICA and PEGASUS," Lieutenant Rodriguez said, reaching up to push the earpiece of his headset in farther to improve the sound quality. .

"Good," Ross said.

"Should we launch the Hammerheads?" asked Colonel McQueen, seated at the Air Group Commander's station to the right of Ross' command chair.

"No," Ross said. "Stand by, Colonel."

McQueen frowned as he replied with the requisite "Aye, Sir." He was one of many among the human personnel who was having a hard time forgetting that, up until quite recently, the Chigs had been mortal enemies. Ross saw the frown, and smiled wryly. He, too, had not forgotten that. But if they were going to work together against the Cylons, he knew they had to trust each other...however difficult that might be.

Ensign Johnson, a pretty African-American female in a crisp white uniform who was manning the combined LIDAR and DRADIS console, spoke up. "Sir, three Chig Capital Ships approaching."

"That's our escort," Ross said. "Steady as she goes."

As they watched, the three large, wedge-shaped craft drew nearer. Lieutenant Rodriguez looked up from his console. "Admiral, the commander of the Chig escorts is requesting visual communication."

"Visual?" Ross echoed. He got up from his command chair and walked over to a video monitor on one wall of the bridge. He pressed a button on the panel next to the monitor, and the picture came to life. He found himself looking at the alien, insectoid visage of the Chig commander, who, Ross was surprised to see, was not wearing his helmet. _I suppose that's to be expected,_ Ross thought to himself. _He's aboard his own ship, in his own atmosphere. He doesn't need his helmet there. _

"Admiral Rosssssss," the mechanical-sounding voice said. "Greetingsssss." Ross saw, strapped to the Chig's chest, a rectangular, boxlike device, with red and green lights which flashed as the Chig spoke. _A personal translator of some sort,_ Ross thought as he took it all in. _And clearly less than perfect. _He looked closer. _Amazing_, he thought. _It seems to be made from a voice processor of an A.I. _The right side of Ross's mouth quirked upwards slightly as a question came instantly to his mind.

"I am appreciative of your effort to speak to me in my own language," Ross said. "The device you have there is most ingenious. What has become of your A.I. spokesman, with whom we became acquainted at our last meeting?"

"SSSSSSsssssssss," the Chig hissed. "He and othersssss of his kind betrayed ussssss, after we made peace with you. He isssss with the Cylonsssss now." The Chig hissed again, clearly upset to think about the A.I.s. "We disssssassssembled the others to prevent further treachery on their partsssss."

Ross couldn't help but smile a cold, frosty smile. A lot of his friends, and some family, died in the A.I. Rebellion. _Good riddance_, he thought. But he didn't say that out loud. Instead, he simply replied, "I you escort us into your star system now?"

"Yessssss," the Chig said. "Follow, pleasssssssse."

As ordered, the three ships of the Earth task force, accompanied by their escorting Chig capital ships, proceeded into the Kappa Reticuli star system, and assumed orbit around the planet Ceres. As they approached the planet, they could see the Chig fleet. "How many capital ships, Johnson?"

"I detect nineteen capital ships, and at least twice that many supporting cruisers," the ensign said, referring to large, dart-like vessels, clearly out of the same stable which produced the more common U-378 and U-450 strike craft deployed in large numbers during the recent war between the Chigs and Earth, but much larger.[1]

"Hmmm," Ross said. "That's a significant force."

"And there are more vessels waiting to join the fleet in the Achilles Region," Colonel McQueen said. "The Chigs are taking this threat very seriously."

"As they should," Ross replied. "Based on what we've learned from the Colonials, the Cylons would think nothing about nuking their home planet from orbit."

McQueen couldn't help thinking, _That's something I wouldn't mind doing myself. _Although McQueen had always done his best not to get close to his squadron-mates, something made easier by the fact that many "natural borns" wanted as little to do with him as possible simply because he was a "Tank," still he couldn't completely avoid feeling the loss when a comrade died. He smiled, almost imperceptibly. _I suppose I wouldn't be human if I didn't feel it_, he mused. And many, many comrades had died at the hands of the Chigs. Working with them, instead of trying to wipe them out as an abomination on the universe...that was going to be hard. But he didn't say any of that. Instead, he merely replied, "Yes, Sir."

"Well, Colonel," Ross said, "we've got twenty four hours until the wormhole to the Achilles Region opens up. Let's make good use of that time. We've got some green squadrons aboard. Let's get them out on practice maneuvers." He looked at Lieutenant Rodriguez again. "Signal the Chigs, inform them that we'd like to launch our Hammerhead squadrons for practice maneuvers."

"Aye, Sir," Rodriguez said. After a moment, he turned to Ross. "Permission granted, Sir."

To Ross's surprise, McQueen immediately spoke up. "Attention all Squadrons!" McQueen said. "Report to the landing bay for practice maneuvers." He listened as acknowledgements come in from all of the squadron commanders. He stood up and walked over to Rodriguez's station. "Please transmit these flight plans to the Chigs, Mr. Rodriguez."

"Aye, Sir," Rodriguez said, and obediently complied.

Ross smiled. He had expected that briefings would need to be conducted, and flight plans...well...planned, before the practice missions could begin. But, he thought to himself, _I should have known that McQueen would already have prepared to put the time here to good use. _He turned to look out of the large viewports which lined the forward wall of the Bridge. Outside the SARATOGA, he could already see squadrons of SA-43 Hammerheads forming up. One by one, the squadrons took off, blue plasma flaring rom their tail pipes. Ross looked down at his console, where a readout showed McQueen's flight plan. He saw that the squadrons were heading for the outermost planet in the system, a huge gas giant a bit larger then Jupiter. The planet was not inhabited by the Chigs, nor were there any Chig installations there, so there was little chance of a sudden, accidental encounter with a Chig vessel in that vicinity which could cause unfortunate problems for the mission. Ross approved of McQueen's choice.

He smiled as he looked at his helmsman, Lieutenant Commander Rodney Highgate, a tall, lanky, awkward looking young man with red hair and a face which looked like it belonged on the front of MAD magazine. "Steady as she goes, Mr. Highgate," he said.

"Aye, Sir," Highgate replied. "Steady as she goes."

[1] The Chig Cruiser was never seen in the series. But one assumes that some sort of escort vessel, sized in between the relatively small U-378 and U-450 strike craft and the large capital ships, would have existed to help protect the capital ships.


	47. Chapter 47

THE ACHILLES REGION, 26 AUGUST 2064

On the morning of August 26, 2064, Major Shane Vansen sat in the cockpit of her SA-43 Hammerhead fighter, soaring through the blackness of space in the Achilles Region, which her carrier, the SARATOGA, had entered via a wormhole from the Kappa Reticuli star system just the day before. This mission, to Vansen's complete satisfaction, was just a training mission. The Wildcards of the 58th Squadron, United States Marine Corps Space Aviator Cavalry were going to practice flying in formation with two other squadrons carried by the SARATOGA, both of which were still quite unused to operating together as a group. _Flying in close formation with those greenhorns might be almost as dangerous as flying a combat mission,_ Vansen mused as she checked her LIDAR for contacts. She grinned. _I wonder if we'll get hazard pay for this._

Of course, she knew that things could be a whole lot more dangerous, here in the Achilles region. The 58th Squadron had served here during one of the campaigns of the recently ended Chig War. Some of them had not come out of that campaign alive. _And now,_ she thought to herself, _we'll be fighting alongside the Chigs, instead of trying to kill them. _She shook her head in bemusement. _I wonder if the Chigs are having as hard a time adjusting to this new alliance as we are? _

Suddenly, as if in answer to her question, she heard the voice of her second in command, Captain Nathan West, come in through her headset speakers.

"King of Hearts to Queen of Diamonds," West said. "Contact just picked up on LIDAR."

"I see it, King of Hearts," Vansen replied, frowning. _Just a single contact?_ She thought to herself. _What the hell? I thought we were supposed to meet some Chig squadrons for joint combat training. _But she could see it clearly on her own LIDAR screen. There was only one contact.

She knew that it had been arranged for a Chig force to "jump" them while they were on this patrol, to give the greenhorns some practice in flying under simulated combat conditions. By agreement, both sides were flying with deactivated weapons systems…just in case anybody forgot that the war between human and Chig was over. But why would the Chigs send only one fighter? Shane frowned again. It didn't make any sense.

By now, the "enemy" fighter was coming into visual range. As she looked closer, she saw that it was larger than the usual Chig fighter, of a somewhat different design, and painted a garish red. Suddenly it cut in its afterburners and streaked forward, seemingly straight at Shane's Hammerhead. _All right, you Chig bastard,_ she thought to herself. _Wanna play chicken? I'm_ _game._ Shane grinned as she cut in her own afterburners and streaked forward to meet the onrushing "foe."

"Gunsss, gunsss, gunsss," she heard a slightly mechanical sounding voice come in through her headset. "Human dead."

The Chig fighter continued boring in on Vansen's Hammerhead, streaking closer and closer. "What the fuck!" Vansen exclaimed. Then, as Vansen was about to jerk her stick to the right to avoid a collision, the Chig pilot adjusted his course to miss her and did a mocking victory roll as he flashed by Vansen's fighter. Shane caught a brief glimpse of a white human skull, with the words, "Abandon All Hope," painted on the side of the Chig craft.

Vansen dove away out of the fight and flew away to the agreed-upon safety position, where the human "casualties" of the fight were to form up and wait to return, with their squadrons, to the SARATOGA. As she did so, she heard the Chig pilot's chilling mechanical voice again.

"Gunsss, gunsss, gunsss. Human dead."

"Damn it!" she heard Paul Wang exclaim. "The bastard got me too."

"That bastard's fast!" she heard Cooper Hawkes exclaim.

"And he turns on a dime," Vanessa Damphousse yelled. "I can't get him off my tail!"

"Gunsss, gunsss, gunsss. Human dead," said the alien voice again.

"Shit!" Damphousse said. "He got me."

By now, Paul Wang's Hammerhead had pulled up next to Vansen's, and they both watched as the remaining Hammerheads dueled with the Chig fighter. One, then two, then three more pilots, these from the other squadrons, succumbed to the alien pilot's seemingly impossible maneuvers. As Damphousse's Hammerhead pulled up to join those of Vansen and Wang, Wang said, "Who is that guy?"

"I don't know, Joker," Vansen said. "I'm just glad he's on our side."

"You and me both," Damphousse said.

"Gunsss, gunsss, gunsss. Human dead," came the alien voice once again.

"Crap!" they heard Cooper Hawkes say. Three more pilots from other squadrons soon uttered expletives of their own as the alien fighter got them in its sights.

And so it went. One by one, the human pilots found the Chig fighter on their tails, and heard the spine-tingling alien voice intone, "Gunsss, gunsss, gunsss. Human dead." Finally, when there were only three pilots left…Nathan West among them…the alien did another victory roll and streaked away into the blackness of space. West attempted to pursue, but the Chig fighter jinxed left, right, up and down, never allowing West to obtain target lock. Then it put on its afterburners again and pulled away, leaving West in its proverbial dust…or it would have, if there had been any dust there, at that place in the vacuum of space.

Vansen watched the whole thing in awe. _Who is that motherfucker?_ she asked herself. "All right, Wildcards," she ordered. "Let's go home."

Later on, in the mess hall, she and the other Wildcards were sullenly and silently eating their spaghetti and meatballs when Colonel McQueen walked in. He saw his old squadron-mates and a sly smile came over his face. He stepped quietly up to their table.

"I heard you met Chiggy von Richthofen today," McQueen said. "And got your asses handed to you."

The Wildcards quickly stood to attention and saluted. McQueen returned the salute. Vansen spoke up, asking the question that all the members of the 58th were dying to ask. "Sir! Who was that bastard, Sir!"

"At ease, Vansen, and the rest of you too," McQueen said. He pulled up a chair and sat down, inviting the others to do likewise. When everyone was seated, McQueen looked at them with the familiar, stern look he often assumed during briefings. "Chiggy von Richthofen is the leading ace pilot of the Chig space force. He singlehandedly wiped out a several Hammerhead squadrons here in the Achilles region before hostilities ended. He flies a one-of-a-kind, experimental craft fueled by Tylium." He smiled. "If we hadn't have been called away for the mission which led to the end of the war, we may have faced him in real combat. Thankfully, we didn't have to."

"We could have taken him," Cooper Hawkes said, in a surly voice.

"Maybe," Paul Wang said. "I'm glad we don't have to find out."

"Amen to that," Vanessa Damphousse said.

_If I had met that Chig four months ago, _Shane Vansen thought to herself,_ he or I would be dead now. Now we'll be fighting together against the Cylons. _She smiled and shook her head, then took another bite of spaghetti._ What is the universe coming to? _Suddenly, she felt eyes on her, and she looked up to see McQueen watching her with an enigmatic smile on his face. She smiled back, then picked up her glass of tea and held it up.

"To allies, and the end of one war," she said.

The others raised their glasses. "To allies," they said.


	48. Chapter 48

THE ACHILLES REGION, 27 AUGUST 2064

Outside the hatch leading to one of the cavernous hangar bays of the U.S.S. SARATOGA, Major Shane Vansen tugged at the stiff, scratchy wool collar of her dress blues as she and the other Wildcards of the 58th Squadron waited for the hangar to repressurize. She peeked out through the porthole in the hatch door, at a sight she never thought she'd see. There, on the hangar bay deck, was a Chig transport vessel, carrying the Grand Admiral (or whatever the Chig equivalent term was) of the Chig fleet which was being deployed to recapture the Alpha Reticuli star system. She looked at the other Wildcards, standing tensely nearby.

"All right, when the green light goes on, I want you out on the deck, on the double," she said. "And look smart. This, as they say, is an historic occasion!" She grinned. "You don't want to look sloppy for the history books!"

"Yes, Major!" the other Wildcards responded in unison, grins on their faces. Vansen knew she could depend on them. They wouldn't let her down.

The green light suddenly snapped on, and Vansen threw open the hatch. "Move it!" she exclaimed.

The Wildcards filed out through the hatch and onto the hangar deck, quickly and efficiently forming a line in front of the Chig craft. Vansen took her place at the right end of the line. She drew her ceremonial sword, and couched the blade against her right shoulder. Another hatch opened and Vansen saw Admiral Glen Ross, accompanied by Admiral William Adama and several aides including their former commander, Colonel McQueen, enter the hangar and take up position to the left of the Wildcards' line.

The large hatch on the side of the Chig craft opened up slowly, and some of the Chigs' methane and carbon dioxide atmosphere spilled out, creating an eerie mist as it mixed with the oxygen atmosphere in the hangar.

"Marines! Attention! Present Arms!"

The Wildcards obediently snapped to attention and brought their rifles forward, holding them vertically in front of them with the muzzles pointed skyward.

Then, six dangerous looking Chig soldiers, clad in the all-too-familiar combination environmental suits and body armor with helmets, and armed with the deadly plasma rifles that had killed so many human marines and soldiers during the recently ended war, stepped out of the open hatchway. They formed up into two lines, on either side of the hatchway, and watched warily for any sign of danger from the humans. Then, what could only be the Chig Grand Admiral stepped out, accompanied by another Chig who was unarmed and was evidently his aide. He too, was clad in a metallic environmental suit, this one gold, instead of silver, in hue. He also wore a flowing cape of metallic material which shimmered in the bright lights. On his chest was the boxlike device which Vansen had heard, through the grapevine which ran through every ship, was a translation device based on the voice processor of an A.I., which the Chigs had dismantled after the end of the war with Earth. Vansen had, as a child, watched while the A.I.s murdered her parents in cold blood. She had later found out that the monsters had basically flipped a coin to pick the house they invaded that night. Now, they had betrayed the Chigs, and paid for it with their artificial lives. She couldn't help smiling, just a bit, on the inside about that. _Payback's a bitch_, she thought to herself. _I just wish I'd been there to see it. _

"Marines! Shoulder Arms!" she ordered. The other Wildcards swiftly complied. Admiral Ross and Admiral Adama stepped forward.

"Welcome aboard the SARATOGA, Grand Admiral," Ross said. "I'm Admiral Ross."

"Your vesss-sssel is most impresss-sssive," the Chig replied in the hissing, slightly mechanical-sounding voice produced by the translation device. 

"Thank you, Admiral," Admiral Ross said as he bowed slightly. Then he said, gesturing toward his companion, "This is Admiral William Adama, my second in command."

"Admiral," Adama said, bowing slightly in turn.

"If you will accompany us to the briefing room, Admiral, we can discuss our joint plan of operations," Ross said.

"Yessss," the Chig commander said.

Together, Ross and Adama, along with the Chig Grand Admiral and his aide, left the hangar, leaving Vansen and the Wildcards facing the Chig security detail, who Ross had ordered the Wildcards to keep an eye on until the meeting was concluded. "Order arms! At ease!," Vansen ordered, and the other Wildcards lowered their weapons to the at rest position. She watched the Chig guardsmen, and they, behind the sinister-looking face-masks of their helmets, watched her back. Neither side let its guard down for an instant. _It's obvious they don't trust us any more than we really trust them,_ Vansen thought. _I suppose that's only natural. Memories of the war are still fresh._ She noticed that one of the guards was wearing a translation device, while the others weren't. _The leader, I suppose, _Vansen thought. _Well, we've got to start somewhere,_ she thought. She handed her personal weapons to Nathan West, who stood beside her.

"What's up, Shane?" he asked.

"Nothing...just hold onto these for me," she said quietly, then she stepped forward, carefully approaching the Chig sporting the boxlike translation device.

"I'm Major Shane Vansen," she said. "Among humans, it is customary to greet our friends by clasping hands with them. In ancient times, clasping hands showed that you came in peace, as you were holding no weapon." She extended her hand toward the Chig.

The Chig looked at her silently for a moment, then looked down at her extended hand. Then, after a moment more, he silently handed his weapons to the soldier next to him, turned back to Vansen, reached out, and took her hand in his.

"SSSShane Vanssssen," the Chig said. "Greetingssss."

Vansen felt the firm grip of the alien on her hand, and couldn't help shivering slightly. Just a few months ago, if she'd gotten this close to a Chig, he would likely have killed her. She smiled at the Chig soldier. "Greetings," she said. "And well met."

THE ALPHA RETICULI STAR SYSTEM, 29 AUGUST 2064

In a small, brightly lit cell in the Cylon headquarters building on the third planet in orbit around the giant yellow star Alpha Reticuli, Elroy El 588 hung, suspended by his wrists from chains affixed to the ceiling, the tip of his toes barely touching the cold, concrete floor beneath him. He was naked...not that this mattered to a Silicate like Elroy, who did not share the ridiculous shame at having others see his body that Carbonates exhibited. Some of that body was considerably the worse for wear, with numerous lacerations revealing the gears and circuitry beneath his artificial skin, and other parts of his skin blackened or melted where heat sources had been applied, much of that damage having occurred since his arrival at this place. As he hung there, he contemplated his fate. In his memory storage banks, he retained perfect recordings of everything he had ever said or done since his creation, in a factory on Earth, over twenty years before. And not only that, but because of the wireless interlinks between Silicates, he knew much that had been done or said by most of the other Silicates, both those who had been destroyed during the A.I. Rebellion, and those who had survived. But at the moment, he was reviewing one particular piece of electronic memory. A memory which had come back to haunt him, with a vengeance.

"_Ohhhh," he had said. "You really should be a good boy and cooperate. It will be so much better for you if you do." He'd held up his left hand and extended the index finger. Using his right hand, he'd grasped the tip of his left index finger, and twisted it, just like he was unscrewing a bottle cap. Then he'd pulled it loose, revealing a filament which flickered and sparked with electricity._

_"I really detest having to do this," he'd said, looking Cavil John Cavil with sad eyes. "I was a humor model, you know. I was programmed to make people laugh." He'd looked at the sparking filament. "But…"_

_Then he'd placed the filament against Cavil's neck. _

Elroy smiled as he remembered the screams of agony as the electric current passed through the body of Cavil John Cavil. Then the smile faded. For he was now in the power of Cavil John Cavil...not the same one who he had tortured, but a duplicate who shared his memories. A duplicate who had spent much of the past few days here with Elroy in this cell, exacting revenge for what Elroy had done to another of his kind.

As a Silicate, Elroy did not feel pain, not in the same way a Carbonate...or a hybrid Carbonate/Silicate like Cavil John Cavil...felt it. Beat him, cut him with a knife, rip out his hair or rip off his skin...even set him of fire...and he wouldn't feel a thing. But there was one torture which was hideously effective. And ironically, it was inflicted with the very same implement...the sparking filament unveiled by unscrewing the end of one of Elroy's own fingers...that he had used to torture Cavil John Cavil, all those months ago.

Cavil John Cavil, of course, had not known this...at least not at first. Thus had Elroy gained the various lacerations and burns which covered much of his body. But eventually, exasperated, Cavil had hit upon the idea of using the filament on Elroy...and had been delighted to observe the effect it produced. For the disruption the filament caused to Elroy's life-giving patterns of electric current were...unpleasant. VERY unpleasant. Elroy did not know if what he felt was pain, but it was definitely something he did not wish to experience again. Ever.

But he knew that he had very little choice in the matter. If Cavil John Cavil chose to inflict the...unpleasantness...upon him, he would do so. There was very little that Elroy could do to stop him. Elroy-El 588 was a humor model. But somehow, he could find nothing humorous in this situation. He had no desire to end his days here, in this manner. He turned on his randomizer once again, seeking an answer, but it gave him no solace. _Low card. You lose. _

Just then, he heard the sound of footsteps, a soft "click" "click" which echoed from the concrete floors of the hallway outside and against the concrete walls to either wide. _Cavil John Cavil is coming,_ he thought to himself. As a Silicate, Elroy-El did not know fear. Or at least he liked to delude himself to think so. But if it was not fear, something quite unpleasant surged up his silica spinal cord at the sound of those footsteps. If he'd had a bladder, he would likely have released it at that moment.

He listened as the cheerful beeping of the electronic buttons on the panel which controlled the door to Elroy's cell were pressed...by someone. The crosshair-like pupils of his eyes focused on the door, waiting for the entry of Cavil John Cavil. But it was not he who entered the room.

"Elroy," said the Cylon he had known as Sharon Agathon. Or at least he thought it was her...there were copies of her here, too, who looked and sounded just like her. He watched as the Cylon approached him. He saw she was carrying a tan jumpsuit of the kind worn by many of the lower-ranking Cylons here. Sharon quickly went over to the pad on the wall which released the magnetic cuffs which secured Elroy's wrists. She pressed a few buttons, and the cuffs released, dumping Elroy unceremoniously on the ground. He fell like a sack of potatoes and lay in a heap where he landed on the cold, hard, concrete floor. Sharon ran over to him and squatted next to him.

"Elroy, are you all right?" she asked, concern on her face.

Elroy trained the crosshairs in his eyes on her, and saw several small scars on her face which he knew were possessed by the Sharon Agathon he had known. He sat up.

"I am...relatively...undamaged," he said in his silky, sonorous voice, a sardonic smile on his face which would have played well in any Las Vegas lounge. "But, I confess, I do not understand...why..."

"Why I've come back for you?" Sharon asked, a sad smile on her own face.

"Yes, Sharon Agathon," Elroy said, cocking his head to one side as he considered her.

"Let's just say that spending a few weeks here with John has reminded me why I left home in the first place," she said sadly. "I need your help to escape. If you help me, I will help you. Deal?"

The randomizer in Elroy's electronic brain worked again. "Take a chance," it told him. "Yes, Sharon Agathon. I will help you."

"Good," she said, smiling. She handed him the jumpsuit. "Get dressed," she said.

Elroy did as he was told. "Where will we go, Sharon Agathon?"

"There's an exit from this building not far from here. It's not well guarded," Sharon said. "Here, put these on, but don't lock them," she said, handing Elroy a pair of iron manacles. "I look like every other Number Eight model around this place. Nobody will think a thing about seeing me escort you, manacled, out of the building." She smiled sardonically. "If anyone asks, I'll tell them I'm taking you to be executed, at John's orders. The problems will come when we get to the landing pad where our Raptor is parked. We may have...company...there that we'll have to deal with."

"I understand, Sharon Agathon," Elroy said.

And it went much as Sharon had predicted. They walked out of the building, Elroy with his hands manacled behind him, Sharon pushing a pistol into the small of his back. There were, in fact, no guards at the little-used exit from the Cylon Headquarters building. As they walked through the courtyard, down toward the small landing field where several Cylon Heavy Raiders and the Raptor were parked together, several other humanoid Cylons, including another Number Eight who appeared to Elroy to be nearly identical to Sharon, saw Sharon and waved at her. She smiled and waved back, then urged Elroy onward with a jab of the pistol into his back.

Finally, they got out of the courtyard and approached the landing field itself. They passed a small copse of trees, and Sharon pulled Elroy inside. She placed a pistol into his right hand and removed the manacles. "Keep your hands behind you, as if you were still manacled," she said. "If I stay close behind you, nobody will see the gun in your hand. When we get to the ship, we may have to take it by force."

Elroy's randomizer worked again. He cocked his head to one side, the crosshairs in his eyes locked on the round pupils of hers. "Yes, Sharon Agathon. I will do as you say."

They left the copse of trees and headed toward the landing field. Sharon whispered, "Just keep going. Don't stop for anything." Fortunately, there were few other Cylons on the field at that moment, and the Raptor was quite close to where they had entered the field. As they came up to the Raptor, however, they saw the side door was open. They could hear voices from inside.

"Alright, Elroy, let's go. Whoever's in there, we've got to kill them," Sharon whispered.

"Yes," Elroy said, a slight smile on his face.

Sharon rushed forward and stepped up into the Raptor. She was confronted by a Number Six and another Number Eight, both of whom, startled, turned to face her in surprise.

"What..." the Number Six said before Elroy shot her between the eyes. Sharon hesitated, and the other Number Eight, her face a mask of hate, leapt on her, knocking the gun out of her hand and fastening her hands around Sharon's neck as they both tumbled out of the Raptor and onto the concrete of the landing field, biting, clawing, and scratching at each other like two wildcats.

Elroy watched them for a moment. _Should I kill them both,_ he asked himself. _Or should I help Sharon Agathon as I promised? _His randomizer worked again. He raised the barrel of his pistol, and it coughed twice.

Sharon Agathon pushed away the corpse of the other Number Eight, which had collapsed on her when Elroy shot it twice in the back of the head. She looked up at Elroy, and saw him pointing his pistol at her face, his head cocked to one side as he stared at her with an odd expression.

"Oh, my," he said in his silky, sonorous voice. "Just_ look _what I've done. I simply _must_ be more careful." A smile slowly crept over his face. Then he lowered his gun and offered her his hand. "We must go, Sharon Agathon."

Sharon shuddered slightly as she looked into Elroy's dead eyes, with their sinister sniper's scope-like crosshairs. She reached slowly over to where her own gun had fallen when the other Number Eight had knocked it from her hand. Elroy's eyes followed her hand, but he did not raise his pistol. Instead, to her surprise, he offered it to Sharon.

"I was a humor model," he said. "Firearms...frighten me."

Sharon reached up and took the pistol from Elroy's hand. Picking up her own, she shoved both of them into the belt of her jumpsuit. "Come on," she said.

Together, they climbed into the Raptor. Sharon closed the door behind them and then she sat Elroy down in the ECO's seat. "I need an ECO, and you're it, Elroy," she said. "Listen up, because I'm about to give you a crash course in DRADIS."

Elroy's electronic brain rapidly absorbed the information as Sharon quickly explained how the DRADIS console worked, and how to read the display. "Once we take off, John will send some Raiders after us. It will take several minutes to bring the FTL drive online. We're going to have to survive until then. Do you think you can do this?"

"Yes, Sharon Agathon," Elroy said.

"Good," she said, quickly donning a flight suit and helmet from one of the compartments on board. She sat down in the pilot's seat and flipped several switches. Elroy felt the Raptor vibrate as its three large sublight engines roared to life and the Raptor began to lift off of the ground.

There came a sound of _ping, ping, ping ping _as two Centurions on the ground opened up on them with machine guns. The Raptor's tough skin was not punctured, however, and Sharon pointed the nose upward and began climbing away. As she continued to climb, a red light began flashing on Elroy's console.

"Sharon Agathon," Elroy said, "missile warning indicator."

Sharon's blood ran cold. One of the SAM sites ringing the Cylon headquarters building had fired one of its deadly antiaircraft missiles at the Raptor. "Hold on!" she shouted, then slammed a button on her console, releasing a cloud of chaff behind the Raptor as she shoved the stick to starboard. The missile flashed by, decoyed by the chaff, and Sharon squealed with excitement. She opened up the throttle and the Raptor roared up and away, leaving the atmosphere within three minutes. She looked at the timer for the FTL Drive. Seventeen more minutes. _This could be the longest seventeen minutes in my life,_ Sharon thought to herself. _Or the shortest. _

As the Raptor left the atmosphere, Sharon saw several Basestars nearby. Already, one of them was launching raiders to pursue her. Suddenly the communications console crackled to life.

"Sharon," she heard John Cavil's voice say. "That...thing...you have with you is dangerous. It can't be trusted." Cavil sounded almost sad as he continued. "Come back to us, Sharon. Your home is with us."

Sharon didn't reply. Instead, she turned on her turboboost and roared away as fast as she could make her Raptor go. She was dismayed to see blue tracers flash by her cockpit canopy. "Three fighters in pursuit," Elroy said. Sharon began jinxing the Raptor wildly, left, right, up, down, anything to keep the pursuing raiders from obtaining a fatal target lock.

Meanwhile, in the swirling, churning band of frozen space debris which orbited the outer edge of the Alpha Reticuli star system, there was a brief flash of light as a Blackbird exited from a wormhole and hid among the debris field. Aboard the Blackbird was Captain Karl "Helo" Agathon, who placed his craft behind a large chunk of space ice and carefully maneuvered to keep it hidden from Cylon sensors. Of course, the Blackbird was specifically designed to evade detection by Cylon sensors, its hull made of carbon composites and its electronic and engine emissions configured so as to emit the least possible signature which the Cylons might pick up. With any luck, any Cylon sensor which did pick him up would think the Blackbird was just another piece of flotsam, bobbing around in the airless vacuum of space.

Helo turned on his passive DRADIS and started scanning the system. He knew better than to turn on his more powerful active DRADIS…if he did that, the Cylons would be all over him like ants on an upturned sugar bowl spilled at a summer picnic. He looked out of the front canopy, continuing to make minute adjustments to his course and speed calculated to keep the Blackbird hidden from prying Cylon eyes…or DRADIS.

As he did so, Helo's mind couldn't help but wonder what had become of his wife, Sharon, who had taken off in a stolen Raptor several weeks ago, following the death of their daughter, Hera. Was she here, somewhere in this system? No. More likely she was dead, having run out of oxygen and fuel before she made contact with the Cylons, or whatever else it was she was seeking in the cold blackness of space. He still couldn't believe she'd defect back to the Cylons. He loved her deeply…and he was convinced that she still loved him as well.

He tore his mind away from his own problems and concentrated on his DRADIS screen. "Holy felgercarb," he said to himself. "The Cylons have at least twenty Basestars here. That's the biggest frakking fleet we've ever seen. And there may be more…the passive scans won't penetrate planetary bodies, so anything they have hiding behind the third planet might as well be invisible, because I won't see it from here." He knew that he had strict orders not to risk discovery by taking a closer look into the system. But he wanted to, badly. What they didn't know about could very well kill them.

Just then, a light on his panel started flashing. He frowned and got ready to activate his FTL jump engine. "I've got incoming bogeys…time to go." He paused, and looked closer. "Wait a second…four bogeys, and three seem to be pursuing the fourth? What the hell?" By now, the bogeys were approaching visual range. To his amazement, he saw a Colonial Raptor, jinxing left and right, up and down, to avoid tracer fire from three pursuing Cylon raiders.

His finger hovered over the button which would activate his jump engine and get him away to safety. He knew that Admiral Adama would have his hide for jeopardizing the mission if he intervened to save the Raptor. _Besides,_ he thought_, it could all be an elaborate trap…get me to show myself, and then kill me. _

But he just couldn't do it. Those might be his comrades out there…maybe prisoners of the Cylons making an escape attempt. "I've got to help them," he muttered. He opened the throttle and blue plasma flared briefly from his three engines as the Blackbird shot forward out of the debris field and straight toward the Cylon raiders. He cut his engines again and glided forward, waiting for them to pass him by. The Blackbird was jet black, as black as the space around them. _With any luck,_ he thought to himself, _they won't see me until it's too late. _

The Raptor continued to jinx rapidly, barely missing a stream of Cylon tracers. _Whoever that Raptor Jockey is, he's good_, Helo thought. He'd been one himself until recently, when he'd requested, and received, assignment to the new Blackbird Squadron on the PEGASUS.

The Cylons continued to hurtle onwards in pursuit of the Raptor, not noticing the sleek, ink-black spacecraft which approached from their starboard sides. Then, suddenly, they flashed past Helo's canopy, and all he could see was the blue plasma flaring from their tailpipes. He grinned, and flipped the switch to open up his own throttle again. He dashed forward and expertly slipped in behind the heedless Cylon craft. Acquiring target lock on the hindmost Cylon, he squeezed the firing button to activate his three 30mm Thraxon cannon. The guns fired, spitting armor-piercing shells and blue tracers at the Cylon ahead of him. To his delight, there was a brief, brilliant flash as the Cylon exploded, leaving behind a cloud of jagged metal fragments. Quickly obtaining a second target, he fired again, and another Cylon was converted into a cloud of space debris.

By now, the third Cylon had become aware of his presence, and turned rapidly to face him, blue fingers of death reaching out for him from the Cylon's wing-mounted cannon. Helo fired again, and whooped with joy as his tracers found their mark. The third Cylon, like its companions, was obliterated.

"Raptor, this is Blackbird One," Helo said on an encrypted Colonial channel he knew the Cylons could not read. "Identify yourself."

/There was a pause, then a familiar voice said, "Helo, is that you?"

"Sharon?" Helo said, not believing his own ears. "Sharon!"

He heard Sharon's voice breaking. "Helo! What are you doing here?"

"I can't talk about that now," Helo said, tears running down his own face. "I'm transmitting some coordinates. I'm going to jump there. If you love me, you'll jump there too."

"I...I can't go back...to the fleet," Sharon said, openly weeping now.

"I'll protect you, Sharon," Helo said. "I love you. I won't let anything happen to you. Whatever they do to you, they'll have to do to me, too. I swear! You've got to believe me."

By now, there were warning lights on Helo's panel telling him of the approach of several squadrons of Cylon raiders. "I've got to go, Sharon. Follow me!" He hesitated, then pressed the button to activate his FTL jump drive. There was a brief flash of light, and the Blackbird disappeared.

Sharon saw the flash, and knew Helo was gone. "More fighters approaching," Elroy said. Sharon hesitated, then quickly punched the coordinates Helo had given her into the jump computer. The clock on her FTL jump drive counted down to zero, and she pushed the button to activate it. There was a brief flash, and the Raptor, too disappeared.

THE U.S.S. SARATOGA, THE ACHILLES REGION, 29 AUGUST 2064

On the bridge of the U.S.S. SARATOGA, Admiral Glen Ross was reviewing the plans for the upcoming attack on the Cylon base in the Alpha Reticuli Star System when Colonel T.C. McQueen, his Air Group Commander, turned in his seat to face him.

"Admiral," he said, one hand holding the earpiece of his headset against his ear, "I'm getting a scrambled message from Blackbird One."

"A scrambled message…from Blackbird One?" Ross asked, his bulldog-like face assuming a fearsome scowl. "That's one of Adama's pilots…why is he contacting us?"

McQueen frowned as he listened to the message as it was descrambled by the SARATOGA's communications array. "The pilot says he's rescued a prisoner from the Cylons…a prisoner who might not be safe if she is forced to land on one of the battlestars. He says the escaped prisoner has valuable information, and he's requesting asylum with us."

Ross sat back in his chair, the scowl on his face deepening. He stroked his chin as he considered the matter. "It sounds like Adama might not like it if we grant this request, and we don't need this kind of problem now, on the eve of battle," he said. "On the other hand, if that information is as valuable as we're being led to believe…" He made his decision, and leaned forward toward McQueen. "Do it. Advise the pilot that the request for asylum is tentatively granted, pending further investigation."

"Aye, Sir," McQueen said. Speaking into his headset, he said, "Blackbird One, Admiral Ross is extending temporary asylum, pending further investigation. You are cleared to land aboard the SARATOGA."

As they looked out of the windows of the bridge, there were two small flashes of light as the Blackbird and a Colonial Raptor suddenly appeared next to the SARATOGA. As they watched, the two vessels headed toward the large landing bay doors which were, even now, opening on the bottom surface of the SARATOGA. Ross got up from his seat. "Colonel, have a full security detachment on hand in the landing bay. You're with me."

"Aye, Sir," McQueen said. He pressed a button on his console and spoke into his headset. "Security to Landing Bay One. I repeat, Security to Landing Bay One." He took off his headset, stood up, and followed Ross off the bridge.

A few minutes later, Major Shane Vansen and the rest of the Wildcards were standing outside the landing bay, waiting for it to repressurize. Vansen, like the others, was wearing combat fatigues and a helmet, and armed with her personal weapon, a standard M-590 assault rifle. Like all Marines aboard the SARATOGA, the 58th Squadron was on the rotation for security duty, and today was their day. "Every Marine a Rifleman," the old saying went. It seemed silly to Vansen…using highly trained and difficult-to-replace pilots to carry out duties better assigned to Army groundpounders or Leatherneck infantry struck her as a waste of a valuable resource…but it was the Marine way. And in the Marines, it was the Marine Way, or No Way. She and the other Wildcards came to attention quickly and saluted when Admiral Ross and Colonel McQueen strode up to them.

"At ease, Wildcards," Ross said, returning the salute.

"Listen up," McQueen said. "We don't know who might be on that Raptor. Apparently this is an escapee from the Cylons in the Alpha Reticuli System who's not welcome aboard the Colonial fleet for some reason. So look alive, and be ready for anything."

"Yes, Sir!" the Wildcards chorused as one.

The green light indicating hangar bay repressurization came on, and Vansen threw open the hatch. "Move it, Wildcards!" The members of the 58th obediently scrambled out of the hallway and onto the hangar bay, taking up positions to cover both the pilot emerging from the black recon craft and whoever might emerge from the Raptor. Ross and McQueen stepped out and took up a position near Vansen. They watched as the canopy of the Blackbird opened, and the pilot stood up, slowly, making sure his hands were in full view of the security detail.

"I'm Captain Karl Agathon," he said. "We respectfully request asylum."

"Step down, Captain," Ross said. "Slowly. Leave your personal weapon behind."

"Yes, Sir," Karl said, unbuckling the belt around his waist which held the holster for his weapon, and climbing down, slowly and carefully, off of the Blackbird. He stood in front of it with his hands in the air. As he did so, the side hatch of the Raptor opened and swung upwards, but nobody was visible in the opening. Ross looked over at it, frowning.

"Whoever you are," he said, "we have granted you temporary asylum while your case is investigated. You may depart your vehicle in safety. Come out with your hands raised, and leave any personal weapons behind."

Inside the Raptor, Sharon and Elroy looked at each other. Sharon unbuckled the belt around her waist and laid it, along with the two pistols, behind her on the floor of the Raptor. "Come on, Elroy. It'll be all right."

Elroy was not at all sure of that. He knew that there were some legal protections for A.I. prisoners of war under the Geneva Convention. And the treaty which ended the Chig War had included a clause proclaiming an amnesty for "war criminals" from both sides of the conflict, which would include the A.I.s, who were aligned with the Chigs. But Elroy was well aware that Carbonates quite often didn't live up to the lofty principles they claimed to hold for themselves. More than one A.I. had been summarily executed…or even tortured…during the Chig War, despite the Geneva Convention.

But so far, Sharon Agathon had not led him wrong. She had rescued him from the tender mercies of Cavil John Cavil. Together, they had, against all odds, escaped from the Alpha Reticuli system. Should he trust her again? His randomizer worked. "Take a chance," it told him.

"I will come with you, Sharon Agathon," he said.

Sharon stepped out of the Raptor, hands raised, as Ross had instructed them.

"Admiral, this is my wife, Sharon Agathon," Karl said as she stepped down onto the hangar deck.

"Mrs. Agathon," Ross said.

"May I join my husband, Admiral?" she asked.

"Yes," the Admiral said. He didn't see anything especially dangerous about the lovely young woman. "Who else is with you?"

Just at that moment, Elroy stepped into the open hatch, hands up, a slight smile on his face. He looked out over the humans assembled in front of the two spacecraft. The crosshair-like pupils of his eyes quickly focused on one in particular.

"Wang Paul," he said softly in his silky, sonorous voice. "So good to see you again."

Paul Wang was stunned to see the A.I. who had tortured him, all those months ago on Kazbek, standing there, not ten meters away in front of him. His face darkened as blood rushed into the tissues there, and his eyes widened. He quickly raised his weapon, pointing it straight at Elroy. "You son of a bitch!" he shouted, and his finger tightened on the trigger of his weapon. But before he could fire, Nathan West grabbed him from behind in a bear hug, and Cooper Hawkes grabbed the weapon out of his hand.

"What the fuck, Paul!" Nathan hissed into his ear.

"That fucker tortured me!" Wang shouted as he struggled against West's firm grasp. "He made me…he made me confess…to war crimes…used me to spread…propaganda against Earth! Son of a bitch!"

"West, Hawkes, get him out of here," Vansen ordered. She watched as Hawkes and West half pushed, half carried the struggling Paul Wang out of the hangar. She looked at Admiral Ross. "With all due respect, Admiral, do we have to tolerate that…motherfucker…on this ship?"

Sharon spoke up. "If you're going to grant me amnesty, it has to apply to Elroy as well. He has valuable information, just as I do."

Ross grimaced. As far as he was concerned, all A.I.s could be dismantled and flushed out of an airlock and it wouldn't bother him at all. But onboard this ship, he knew he had to be the voice of law and justice. And it was law that A.I.s did have certain rights as POWs, and that A.I. war criminals had been included in the amnesty at the conclusion of the Chig War. As much as he might like to do so, he couldn't just flush Elroy out of the nearest airlock. And he couldn't allow others to do it either. He looked at Elroy again. "What is your designation?"

"I am called Elroy-El 588," the A.I. said.

"Ah," Ross said. "I remember you. You were the translator who conducted negotiations between the Chigs and our fleet during the Battle of Kappa Reticuli."

"Yes," Elroy said in his silky, sonorous voice. "I've fallen on hard times since then."

Ross scowled at that. "I'm going to have you confined in our brig, for your own safety," he replied. He looked at Vansen. "Major Vansen, you and the other Wildcards are to take him there at once." His face assumed a stern visage. "If I hear that any harm has befallen…Mr. Elroy…I'll have the hide of whoever's responsible. Do I make myself clear?" Ross knew what had happened to Shane's parents at the hands of the A.I.s.

"Perfectly clear, Sir," Vansen said, coming to attention and saluting. Then she turned to the other Wildcards. "Let's collect…that…and go." The Wildcards surrounded Elroy, who went with them peaceably.

Ross turned to the Agathons, who were, at the moment, embracing, Sharon sobbing into Karl's shoulder. "Mr. and Mrs. Agathon," he said, "we will find suitable quarters for you." He reached up and rubbed his temples. _This is a headache I don't need right now_, he thought to himself.

McQueen saw this, and asked, "Are you all right, Sir?"

Ross straightened up and smiled wanly at McQueen. "Yes, Colonel," he said. "Will you see that quarters are found for the Agathons?"

"Of course, Sir," McQueen said.

"Good," Ross said. "And see that they are _secure_ quarters," he said quietly. "Until we know what's going on with these two, we've got to be careful."

"Aye, Sir," McQueen said, and Ross strode briskly out of the hangar.


End file.
